


Falling

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-28
Updated: 2000-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: After COTW, Ray and Fraser go on a journey in the Northwest Territories





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Falling

## Falling

by Peaulp Deault

* * *

"Falling" By Peaulp Deault  
Peaulp.deault@sympatico.ca 

Note: This story takes place directly after COTW 

I've put brackets ( ) around the parts that are Fraser's diary entries.The diary entries are also in first person. 

**FALLING**

**PART 1**

"Are you all right down there?" 

By the time Frobisher's voice reaches the bottom of the mineshaft, the echo bounces off every wall and into Fraser's ear. "I've got the prisoner in custody if you'd kindly toss a rope and some cuffs down, Sir." 

"He is ..." The voice from above pauses politely before it completes this next delicate question. "He is alive, isn't he?" 

"Of course, Sir." 

"Good, good. Just checking." 

The rope snakes its way down to Fraser who sends the prisoner up first. He looks around in case there are any shadows left, in case they might have stayed behind; just a few minutes more. But the corners are empty and the shadows are dim. They've gone. 

* 

The duty is done and the chapter has been closed and it feels as empty and strange as he could have imagined. Thatcher and Turnbull have stayed on one last day to clear up any administrative details before they say their good-byes. Ray is due to leave with them and it is his departure that disturbs Fraser the most. He can't help feeling that Ray is unfinished business because Ray came to him with his heart on his sleeve and left with an easy, safe explanation of absolutely nothing. 

Ray is in the cabin, trying to jam his clothes into vanished. 

Fraser's over-stuffed duffel bag when Fraser comes in and sits down. An idea formed in Fraser's mind a while ago and it hasn't seemed to have lost its reason or simply vanished. 

"You should come with me," Fraser says. 

Ray barely glances up from the zipper he's pulling on. "What?" 

"My trip. Why don't you come along?" 

The zipper stays where it is and Ray gives up, puzzled and out of breath. "Huh?" 

Fraser shrugs. "Why not? You haven't taken a vacation since you transferred, you must have some time saved up. I'm sure the Lieutenant would make the necessary paperwork adjustments when he gets back home. You're father could look after your car." 

"Yeah, but..." The idea isn't as puzzling as the reasoning behind it. "But... why'd you want me to come along? I mean - nothing personal, Fraser \- but you're one of the most loner-kinda guys I know." 

No one is more aware of this personality trait better than Fraser but he knows it's time for a change. He's alone now, he saw them walk away from him, this time for good. "Yes, I know. But you're a little like that yourself so I'm sure we wouldn't get on each other's nerves." 

Ray shook his head. "You know how to survive out there, I don't. I'd last a minute, freeze, then keel over like a chunk of ice." 

"Ray, Ray, Ray, you've made it so far without much difficulty. I can teach you everything you have to know. It would be like a road trip. Well, without a road, or a car, I suppose and more snow than anything else. You said you wanted an adventure. Perhaps we'll find one." 

"You really want me to go with you." It's a delicate mixture between question and disbelieving confirmation. 

Fraser nods confidently. "Yes." 

"And this isn't some trick where you leave me out in the tundra to find my way back home and learn to be one with the mountains or something dense like that." 

Fraser raises his right hand. "You have my word." 

But Ray still has doubts. Anywhere else in the world, he figures, Fraser needs company as much as the next guy; but in the one place he calls home, Fraser is all the company Fraser needs. "Is this cause of what we talked about the other night, me feeling out of it cause your old partner's back. This isn't like a pity invitation, right?" 

"No it's not a pity invitation," he corrects firmly. "It simply brought some issues to light, one of which is I think we both could use a change from things in Chicago and I know I could use your company. And yes, you're right, I am something of a loner so for me to ask you to come along, I'd probably better mean it." 

Ray considers this and nods. "Yeah. Guess you would. Okay. If you're sure." 

Fraser sighs. "Ray, I'm sure." 

"And you're gonna get me outa there, back home in one piece." 

Fraser raises his right hand. "On my word of honour as a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and her Majesty the Queen." 

"I'd rather have a promise, but okay." 

* 

(Ray and I have taken off for a trip of our own, away from everything that has defined his life and mine for the past year. He needs to be here and so do I. Perhaps when we're done, we'll know why. Frobisher has set us up with enough food, blankets and everything else needed until our next stop in a week. At that point, I may go to Dad's cabin, see what's left of it. I expect Ray will want to head back home. Ray was apprehensive but I'm trying to keep an eye on him, show him the basics of living out in the snow. Soon, he'll have a set of his own survival skills and we can begin to depend on each other. I envy Ray his newness to the north. I wish I was the one discovering this life for very the first time but I won't fool myself that I can live vicariously through someone else's eyes.) 

* 

((The early hours are the brightest. The first one up - usually it is Ray, who seems incapable of sleeping past six o'clock - starts coffee and breakfast. The second one awake - unable to sleep at night, I catch up in the early morning - preps the dogs and packs the camp. We have managed to fall into various patterns. Sometimes we will talk, sometimes we will go about our chores wordlessly. One will take the dogs, the other will walk and each will have some time to himself. Sometimes we both take the sled to make up for time and lost energies. I've found out things I've never known about Ray in these early days. Nothing earth shattering, just facts that make up the person I am traveling with. I also seem to do a lot of talking about my own upbringing. Usually I think my stories bore him and the other police officers but out here he is genuinely interested. He wants to know about the places, the history, what this means, what that means.)) 

"Hey, Fraser, I'm getting a tug here," Ray calls out from the shore of the ice covered lake. He grabs the wobbly pole and begins dragging it in. He and Fraser yell orders to each other as they both converge on the fish. 

"The hole in the ice isn't big enough for the ice to get through." Ray says. 

"Then lets get jigging," Fraser announces, as if this is the magic moment he's been waiting for. 

"Jigging. What's that - like jogging or something?" 

"No, no. Jigging. It's fishing. Well, a form of fishing. 'Jigging' is when you lie on the ice, jigging the fishing holes with bailed spoon hooks. The top of the fishing holes have to be stirred to keep the water from freezing over." 

"And you happen to have a bailed spoon hook on you." 

"As a matter of fact, I do." Fraser proudly produces it from one of the pockets on his parka. "This ought to do the trick." He carefully steps onto the ice, heading for the hole cover that is icing over before Ray has his catch of the day. 

"Better hurry," Ray yells over. 

"On my way," Fraser waves back. He's having the time of his life out here and forgetting everything else. He's ice fishing, he's jigging. He's Fraser. 

"How much fish do we need to feed the hounds?" Ray is constantly amazed at the distance his own voice will travel, at the importance his words carry to the rest of the world simply because they have an echo attached. 

"At least ten pounds to last us a couple of days. More would be preferable but we wouldn't want to run the risk of letting it turn." 

"Oh, no, wouldn't want to do that," Ray pleasantly agrees as he pulls out a chocolate bar from his coat. "Wouldn't want to have to start coughing up our share of the food." 

Diefenbaker has wandered up to Ray and watches the food with nothing short of envy. 'That should be mine', the whine in his voice insists. 

"Get your own," Ray suggests sweetly. 

"But we're on my turf now,' the next moan complains. 

Ray just laughs and leans back against the tree. "Yer keeping your self dry, now, aren't you," Ray reminds him politely from the dry rock he is perched on. His job is to make sure the lines are steady. Fraser's is to lie on his stomach, go out to the holes and clear the ice away. Ray has the better of the two chores. 

"Would you rather do this?" Fraser answers pleasantly. 

"Oh no, that wouldn't be fair to you." 

"There's a skill involved here, I assure you." 

"Mmm," Ray remarks. He's having a fine time. This feeling is good, this is why he joined Fraser on this trip. There are no phones, no sounds, the scenery is breathtaking, In short, Fraser's idea of heaven and is turning into Ray's vision as well. 

"So what happens if we run out of fish? We get to eat the dogs, right?" 

"Yes," Fraser replies, preparing the line. 

"I was only kidding, Fraser. Yer kidding, right?." 

"No." Fraser is concentrating on the depth of the ice. "Not at all. In the days of the Arctic explorations, when circumstances became dire, the men would often have to kill their weakest dogs for food. Food for the dogs was as important as food for the men. Without the dogs, the men were helpless. Sometimes, the men would take the stronger dogs and look for help. Others would stay with the weakest and use the remaining food to get them back into shape. Or they would have to eat the weakest ones if it came down to that." 

"That's disgusting." 

Fraser just glances at him and shrugs. "Okay." 

"You're still a freak, Fraser," he reminds him. 

"I'm still aware of this, I assure you." 

* 

(Ray is finding his way and he's getting more confidence by the day. He won't need my direction for much longer. I've been letting him lead the dogs more and even though this is my idea, I can't help feeling slighted at the fact that Diefenbaker appears to becoming more and more attached to him. He sleeps on Ray's sleeping bag, wakes when Ray does, sleeps when Ray does. In a way, it almost feels like one more family member is walking away into the shadows. Why does the memory of seeing them in the mineshaft feel so ...disturbing? They've gone, I know this. It must just be a post reaction. There is nothing more to read into any of this and I don't think I'm doing myself any favours by dwelling on small matters like these. On to more concrete issues. Some time after three this morning, Ray woke up startled by a bad dream he had. He was back in the neighbourhood where he grew up but it had now become a war zone, like Bosnia where people were being herded from the buildings into the street. There were limbs lying on the road, and snipers shot anybody in a uniform. Ray said it was like walking through something horrific and yet was still normal. He didn't go back to sleep for a while after that. I suspect he just wanted to talk it out, then try and forget about it. I don't know if it worked. He seems all right today. I don't know where that image would come from. We've had no access to newspapers, radio or television up here. I suppose the subconscience holds things for however long it wants to before it springs it on us when we least expect it--- ) 

"Hey, Fraser." Ray sits down across the fire from him and begins undoing the laces of one of his boots. "What's that you've been writing in? Like a diary or something?" 

"A journal. I thought I'd try and see if I could keep one as my father did." 

"You never kept one before? That's weird. I thought for sure you'd have a whole stack of your own buried some place." 

"No," Ben says quietly. "This is my first one." 

"Oh." Ray has one boot off and happily places it upside down near the fire. "You write anything good about me in there?" 

"Only that your snoring is louder than Diefenbaker's." 

"My snoring is in a class of it's own, you make sure you put that down." Ray pulls at the other boot but it isn't coming off. "Damn." 

Fraser puts down the notebook, grabs the end of Ray's boot and pulls with all his might. "I have to agree with you there, it is definitely unique. I can't say that I've ---" He almost falls backwards but the boot is successfully in his hands. He hands it back to Ray and picks up the notebook again. "I can't say I've heard the likes of it before." 

"Damn right," Ray smiles, placing the second boot near the fire. "Stella once thought of putting it on a CD and making a million bucks out of it." 

"Ah, an entrepreneur. What stopped her?" 

Ray shrugs as he reaches for a dry pair of socks. "We got divorced." 

"Oh. Well, that would do it." 

They sit in silence for a moment longer until Ray asks, "You write about your father much?" 

"Some. Mostly just the details of our trip so far." 

"I guess you still kinda miss him, huh?" 

"Yes. Especially out here." 

"Did you do a lot of things like this with him when you were a kid?" 

Fraser shakes his head slowly. "No, not much as a boy, maybe once or twice when he'd be home. We went tracking more when I got older." 

The conversation is creeping closer to personal and he sees that look of retreat in Fraser's eyes again. What was it like bringing in the man who killed your mother, is what Ray wants to know but he'll never ask. This is Fraser he's with and Fraser preserves these silences with all the reverence of a fanatic priest. 

"Some fish we got, huh?" 

"We won't have to eat the dogs after all." Fraser rubs his chin thoughtfully with the end of the pen. "Though I must admit I was wondering what broiled husky would be like." 

"You're sick, Fraser. They all think you're some nice guy in Chicago but I'm seeing you for the sick puppy you really are." 

"Thank you, Ray." 

**PART 2**

The next morning, Fraser suggests that Ray take the dogs, the entire sled for the day. He assures him that they will meet at a predetermined spot on the map. "It will be good for you to get a day's worth under your belt." 

Ray's eyes are widening. "You mean you want me to take them. Alone? That far? I donno, Fraser, that might not be such a good idea." 

"Diefenbaker knows the way and it would be a good opportunity for you to cover good distance on your own." 

Ray suspects there's more to it because Fraser has been more restless than usual. "You want some time on your own?" It isn't an accusation, it's just the truth. 

"Yes." 

Ray glances down at his feet and hesitates a moment. "You okay?" Fraser hasn't spoken much lately and Ray hasn't tried to press it. He is getting his own brand of confidence on this trip but he'll follow Fraser's lead on this one. 

"Yes. No. I don't know. I just feel ... strange. Like I need some time and some long stretch of land by myself. It's nothing personal, I just need to see ... nothing. No dogs, sleds, Dief ---" 

"Me?" 

"Yes," he says because out here there is no room for diplomacy when you are walking a tight rope. "Even you." 

This is nearing the point that Ray has been worried about. Something is wrong and he will have to do something about it; throw his own rope down the hole and hope it's what Fraser needs to pull himself out until something better comes along. It doesn't occur to him that what he has to offer might possibly be something better. This is Ray's own level of self worth these days; Second best, second everything. 

"You want to talk, or something?" 

He wouldn't know what to say, let alone where to begin. "No. I'm better off on my ... No, thank you." 

Ray doesn't know the specific details, but he knows the case and the trip have taken an emotional toll on Fraser and brought up memories of his mother's life and death that need some kind of reckoning with. He may not be an authority on the frozen north but Ray has taken his share of the real world and all its hells and he suspects the two might be lying in wait for Fraser, if they haven't found him already. 

* 

(I seem to be on edge during this trip, more than I should be. l can't help feeling that Ray is watching me, keeping an eye on me, as though he's waiting for me to crack or something of that nature. He can see something is wrong. Perhaps he's just waiting for me to let him know I am all right. He wants to talk, if that's what he thinks would help but I don't know what I'd say. I don't know anything anymore. Actually, it's late and I'm tired and there's every chance that I don't even know what I'm writing about so I will stop before I say something stupid.) 

* 

"No, I don't want to do this." 

Tired and - though he would not want to admit it, irritable - Fraser has brought the subject of the new travel suggestion up again. It hasn't occurred to him that he might want to wait, considering the bad afternoon they had gone through. Ray lost sight of Fraser and the dogs for an hour, during which a nasty panic came over him. 

"I wouldn't send you if I didn't think you were ready." 

"No." 

"It's like riding a bike, Ray and you've got to get on sooner or later without ---" 

"No!" The fire is almost out, the coffee is almost gone and the dogs are almost asleep until Ray puts an end to the serenity by slamming down the empty plate and climbing to his feet. "I said no and I meant it so drop it. How the hell many times do you gotta be told something before you get it through your thick skull that I mean what I say." 

"Oh, well, excuse me, Your Deafness. And how many times did I tell you not to fall behind when we were taking the north-west trail this afternoon?" 

"I had to go to the can, what the hell else was I supposed to do?" 

"Wait until you'd caught up, did you ever think of that?" 

"Well, maybe it would have been a little too late!" 

"Oh, too late? You seemed to have enough time to spell out your name in the snow." 

"I told you not to gimme me grief over that, Fraser, you'd a done the same thing, with all that fresh snow right there. It's just normal human male behaviour." 

"You know, wolves mark sites with their urine to let other animals know that they've been here, to mark their territory. That's normal behaviour. But they don't go as far as to write their names in the snow for the next party to find." 

"That's cause they can't spell." 

Fraser gives up and rolls his eyes. He can't believe he's even participating in this conversation. "Perhaps suggesting you take the sled for the day was an idiotic suggestion after all." 

This does it. Ray kicks the empty coffeepot over the fire, across the campsite and into the darkness. They can hear the soft thud of old metal meeting old bark, before landing in fresh snow. Then, there is nothing. 

Ray turns his back to Fraser, the fire, the dogs and everything else and looks up at the stars as if they can possibly get him the hell out of here. When he looks down, Diefenbaker has quietly joined him at his side. 

Fraser watches the two of them with disgust. "Oh, brother," is all he says and walks away. 

* 

Ray is the first one up the next morning and he tries to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking Fraser. He doesn't feel like facing him any sooner than he has to. Instead, Fraser appears out of nowhere, fully dressed. 

"Where the hell did you come from?" Ray doesn't mean to sound severe, but he doesn't like having the crap scared out of him either. 

"Nowhere. Just for a walk." 

"Oh." And instead of landing on him for not starting the breakfast, Ray nods his head towards the fire. "Coffee's almost ready." 

"Fine." 

"Okay." 

He hasn't wanted to bring this up but he has decided that Fraser deserves at least a minimal explanation for the explosion the night before. "Look, Fraser, the reason --- That thing yesterday, when the snow started coming down and I couldn't find you or the dogs..." He doesn't have to look up to know that Fraser's eyes are waiting patiently on him. "I got panicked. I have this thing about being lost. You know how some people have that angora-phobia where they can't be in enclosed places. Well I kinda have it in reverse. Like being lost in nothing but snow and all you can see is white and you're thinking you're never going to find your way out, ever. That's kinda how I felt yesterday afternoon and that's why I don't want to go out there alone again. I had this friend once, tough as nails about a lot of stuff but the minute he cut himself and saw his own blood, that was it. He'd panic and he couldn't calm down and that's how I get like when---" 

"Ray--" 

"It's like the next thing you know you're panicking so hard that you can't do anything about it and you're gonna get lost out there and go insane cause you're looking at this cut, this crazy stupid cut on your finger and you feel like you're living in this nightmare---" 

This time Fraser's voice grows louder. "Ray." 

"It's kind of that panic. Like, no no no no and there's no room for discussion. And what's even scarier than being lost with a cut finger is thinking you'll go nuts and you'll stay like that for the rest of your life--" He feels Fraser's hand gently grab his elbow for a moment, long enough to stop the twitching. 

"It was doing it, wasn't it?" 

Fraser nods kindly. "Yes." 

"See, it's still happening. This is why I don't want to go out there. I mean, I thought I'd forgotten how bad I could get." 

"I suppose everyone has something that sets them off." 

"You don't." 

"Well, everyone but me, then." 

Ray just stares at him. "Right. Everyone but you." 

"Perhaps we should abandon the idea for now." 

"Yeah, well, perhaps we'd better cause I'm not jumping off any cliffs." 

"I haven't asked you to." 

"Just wait, you will." 

"You're doing fine out here, Ray, honestly. I hope you realize that. Not everyone can take to the north like this but you have, and very well." 

Ray's eyes appear from somewhere under his toque. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"Even though I got a little separated from you yesterday afternoon?" 

"It very well could have been me. It's just one more detail you won't forget. That's what keeps people alive out here, making mistakes and learning from them." 

"Ah-ha, then you have made a mistake in your life." 

"I've made plenty of them. I just try to classify them as learning experiences rather than mistakes and see to it that the learning experience only happens once." 

"You actually believe that, don't you, Fraser." He doesn't wait long for the nod that is coming. This is Fraser, he'll believe anything. 

* 

(Ray had another one of his dreams again. I wish I had such vivid dreams but mine rarely remain in my memory when I awake. This one wasn't as bad as the Bosnia one. It took place in his old high school where he had to find his locker in a hurry - it was either on the first, third, or second floor - so he could recover the text books he'd never used because he never went to class and sell them for quick cash. During the locker-to locker search, beginning on the first floor, he had to dig up the ground under them as well and look though everything. All the doors had locks on them, some were too narrow to open, and the rows of lockers kept increasing during the frantic search which was made harder by the fact that there was an Open House going on at the time. Where this comes from in his mind is beyond my scope of understanding. He seems to have the most unusual anxiety dreams. I asked him if the vividness of the dreams haunted him during the day and he said not if he kept busy because it's hard to catch a moving target. These days I know what he means. 

He's funny, Ray. He has an innate instinct that he trusts a hundred percent and is rarely ever wrong about, yet he still holds to old insecurities, the snow travel, for example, that won't go away no matter how hard he tries. I've learned as much from him as the trip itself. He's very much like the other Ray that way, and without either of them I don't know where my personality would have stalled at long ago. I used to think getting into a car with Ray Vecchio at high speeds was a frightening, if not exhilarating experience until I got into a car with Ray Kowalski at medium speeds. No wonder he takes to the dogs and sled so easily. He has, as the saying goes, 'the need forspeed'. ) * 

"I'm just saying that sometimes hanging around you isn't always easy." 

Ray hadn't meant for this to come out the wrong way but for some reason it did and Fraser has picked up on it like a magnet. This particular conversation begins the next morning, some place near the bottom of a hill and continues midway up. Neither man can remember how it got started but they're in the thick of it now. They are climbing over a tight stretch of land, Ray leading the dogs, Fraser pushing the sled from behind. Diefenbaker stays detached from the entire scene and watches. 

"How? I really doubt that very much but if you're so sure, please tell me how hanging around me isn't always easy." Fraser pushes the sled until he has caught up to Ray. 

Ray shrugs. It's too easy, it's been on the tip of his tongue for a year now. "Okay. Any time anyone tries to identify one of us, people call you the nice guy, I'm the other one. You're the dark hair guy, I'm the other one---" 

"No you're not. Sometimes you're the blonde one." Fraser tilts his head for a better view. "Well, the blonde one with the tall hair." 

Ray ignores him and continues with his theory. "You're the smart guy, me, I'm the other one. You're the Canadian guy, I'm the other one. This is my real favourite: You're the polite guy, I'm the other one." 

"Well, you're not exactly the 'other' one. And so what if you are. You just have a different approach to things and situations than I do. Maybe a bit less genteel. I mean, on occasion, well on frequent occasions, you have a tendency to be, well, a little overly direct." 

"And what about you? Better than saying 'Please' and 'Thank You' before and after every sentence that comes out of your mouth. You know, most of the people think you're some kind of kiss-ass. Me, I gotta set 'em straight. I'm the one who stands up for you in Chicago cause you're too damn polite to shut up." 

"Kiss Ass. Is that one of your colourful terms for---" 

"'Suck up', 'Brown Noser', 'Butt Kisser'. Call it what you want, Fraser, cause that's what they call you." 

"And you know this." 

"I hear it everywhere I go." 

"And you stick up for me." 

"Each and every time. It's getting kinda tedious." 

"Well, thank you, Ray, I appreciate your defense of me in my absence. It's very thoughtful of you." 

"See, there you go, you're doing it again." 

"Doing what???" 

"That polite thing." 

"Oh, brother." Fraser shakes his head, thinks about shutting up and decides to forge ahead. "You know, when I first came to Chicago, I felt as though I was Ray Vecchio's shadow most of the time. Ray's friends, Ray's cases, Ray's family, Ray's car. Then when he left and you came, I suppose you fell under my shadow. Perhaps you'll walk back in there, taller than you remember and cast your own shadow upon some poor, unsuspecting soul." 

"You think so, huh?" 

"I feel sorry for him or her already." 

Ray nods and smiles. "Okay, I can live with that." 

"Raise high the roof beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man." 

"What the hell is that?" 

"Title of a wonderful novella by JD Salinger, for one." 

But Ray just smiles and shakes his head. "Freak." 

**PART 3**

The next day, they make the mistake of engaging in a conversation about Inspector Thatcher while cutting up wood for the fire. "Is that Frosty Exterior thing for real?" Ray asks, swinging the ax. "You know, I once thought about asking her out. Dumb, right?" It had begun as an attempt on Ray's part to engage Fraser in some kind of conversation that might cheer him up, or at least interest him. 

Fraser looks at him oddly and pretends he doesn't understand. "What's dumb?" 

"Me asking what's-her-name out? Nah, she'd probably would have told me to drop dead." 

"Oh, dear God," Fraser mumbles to himself and rolls his eyes. "Could we please concentrate on chopping?" 

"Don't change the subject, Fraser buddy, I've got you figured out." 

"Figured out what? Would you swing that thing with a little less fervor? You're scaring the dogs." 

Ray smiles and waves the ax in the air. "It's my natural, animal-like way. I'm a hunter out here, a gatherer. They should be scared of me. And you're ticked off cause you wanted to go out with her and you didn't have the guts to ask, right? Just because she's getting that transfer doesn't mean you still can't." 

"Ray, I hardly think you're in any position to judge my unspoken feelings that I have never spoken to you about, so until I decide to speak to you about that ... unspokeness, I think you should keep your wild assumptions to yourself." 

"Well, well, well, who knew. Under that sturdy red lies a heart that's as randy as the next guy's." 

Fraser stands up and clears his throat. "I think that's enough." He doesn't make it clear if he's referring to the chopping or the conversation. 

"So what's so nuts about me asking her out? You don't think someone like her would go out with me?" 

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I just think you were wise to abandon that idea before you found yourself in an uncomfortable situation by asking and being rejected by her." 

"Who says she would have said 'no'?" 

Fraser chortles - a wrong move the moment it's out of his mouth - and adds, "It's hardly likely she would have said 'Yes'." 

Ray steps over the gauntlet Fraser has carelessly tossed on the ground and looks him in the eye. "And what would you know about it, Mr. I-Haven't-Had-A-Normal-Date-Since-I-Met-Ya?" 

"Oh, I see. Given your history with women, you think that you know mine?" 

"Can't be that hard to figure out." 

"So you just assume that what you see and hear are the only facts that matter for you to make a decision on something? Well, that's nothing short of brilliant, Ray. Any more startling announcements you'd like to make?" 

"Yeah, the Inspector's probably cozying up to some Lieutenant in Toronto right now cause you never made your move. How's that?" 

"No more revealing than the fact that Stella's probably sitting across a dinner table from some other policeman right now - what the heck, it could even be the real Ray Vecchio - and she'll have forgotten all about you by the time the next bottle of champagne is uncorked." Where this truckload of spite has poured out from Fraser hasn't a clue, but he seems to be on a roll. "You see, I may have missed my opportunities, but I'm not the only one in this conversation who has. At least I wouldn't have risked making my same mistake twice." 

Ray's finger is pointing directly at Fraser. "Don't go there, Fraser." 

But it's too late, he is already on the way. 

* 

(We had another argument tonight. I think I may have been responsible for this one, although it's getting harder to tell. Ray has decided to take me up on my offer to travel alone tomorrow. I'm not sure if he's doing this to get away from me or simply to prove something but I intend to put our differences aside and make sure that nothing goes wrong for him. I will follow at enough of a distance where he won't be out of my sight. I realize we're different in nature but the longer we travel together the harder it becomes to tell which sentence one of us says will set the other off. Today it was about the Inspector. I let his ribbing get the best of me and I turned into a human, verbal thrashing machine. How he can determine for himself my feelings for her when I've never even discussed that matter with him is beyond me, but if Ray believes he is right, well, that must be that then. Perhaps I've been wise not telling him the details of Victoria. I can only imagine what he would have done with that information during our fiery argument. I'm ashamed to admit that when he got as rude as he did, all I wanted to do was snap back with something so stinging that I would hurt his feelings with a venom. Unfortunately, I think I succeeded more than I meant to but not without provocation. I don't know if it's the responsibility of having someone along and seeing that he doesn't kill himself or perhaps this is how I might feel whether he were here or not, but I wish I could be feeling better. I think it started somewhere after Muldoon's arrest; like a cold, I would imagine, that one can't shake. I know one part of me wants to think about them and seeing them, but the logical side of me knows that's dwelling on the ineffective and I'm not going to make that mistake again. Odd, how it actually manifests itself like a cold, as if that's what the nagging at the back of my throat is; the stress from keeping quiet in the face of Ray's non-stop onslaught of potential insults.) 

* 

Throughout the following morning Fraser begins to feel worse. He thought the time alone would remove some of the blues that had been dogging him but time away from the other human and dogs has only left him lonelier. He wishes Diefenbaker was by his side and within a few hours he is even wishing that Ray was here. He's become used to his company more than he realized and perhaps this was part of his reasoning behind asking Ray along; to find out what it's like to wish your company was here, even though you'd both insulted the crap out of each other the evening before. Was it a good idea to bring him along? He had kept this question at the back of his mind but the answer - now that it was safe to answer \- is yes. 

Fraser keeps an eye on the sled as it disappears further into the white canvas before him. There is a clear surface to follow the tracks of the dogs for some time without having to worry. He's getting another hunger-headache and he wishes he remembered to grab some food from the sled, but it's too late now and Ray isn't going to think of it. The plan is to rendezvous at Beaker Point. Even though he's pissed off and insulted, Ray wouldn't eat more than his share. No, Dief might, but Ray wouldn't. 

Fraser clears his mind with each step he takes through the fresh, shin-deep snow. Being out here is making him light headed. He's alone, he's free. Being on my own should have done me the world of good, he will later write in the journal about that morning, 'And then, I felt the need to answer nature's call. 

Fraser wipes an unusual amount of sweat from his forehead smiles when he remembers seeing the letters 'R-a-y' clumsily but joyously spelled out in a disjointed line. Suddenly the idea doesn't seem as silly anymore and Fraser is feeling challenged to out-do his friend. He looks over his shoulder, as if someone would actually be standing there, waving 'no-no' with their index finger, or chortling smugly at you, saying, 'I told you so'. 

But there is no one there and Fraser begins the great spelling bee. He's doing fine and manages to do the 'O' in Benton until a crackle in the woods startles him. 

"Oh, dear," he replies and zips up his fly with unusual speed. He whirls around to make sure no one - tall Chicagoites in particular - have witnessed this slide into aberrant behaviour. 

"Thank God," Fraser sighs. It's only a rabbit who couldn't care less about who pees where, as long as it isn't on him. Fraser steps back to see if anything from his writing is coherent. He doesn't get a chance to find out because he takes the wrong step backwards and goes tumbling through an opening to another forgotten mine-shaft. 

He falls through one, two, then three broken layers of wooden planks down the shaft like an out of control skier. The walls are narrow and when he finally lands at the ice covered bottom, he's showered with rocks and wood and daggers of ice. He won't yell for help because he knows it won't do him any good and in minutes snow is slipping through the broken entrance and down on him. 

* 

Diefenbaker suddenly skids to a halt and the dogs follow suit, each one barking louder than the next. Ray lurches forward and manages to keep his balance as Dief decides to turn the sled around and backtrack. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing," Ray hollers up to the dogs as they return over the land they've just covered. Ray is beginning to panic now. The weather is changing, it's windier and snowing, the dogs are being mysteriously defiant and, to top this off, Fraser is no where in sight. He was supposed to stay close enough but there is no Fraser and if the weather keeps up soon there will be no tracks to follow. Fraser couldn't have scripted this one better if he had tried. 

The thought, 'I could kill you for putting me through this again' is racing through Ray's mind. Instead, only the words, 'Oh Shit," come out of his mouth. Over and over again. 

* 

Fraser's arm and shoulder are sore, but his head is aching the worst. Each time he tries to stand up, gravity takes over and he ends up back on his arse. Everything is silent down here and the sound of his own voice commenting, "Oh dear," sounds like a muffled symphony orchestra. He calls quietly, "Hello' but no one answers back. 

"Where are you? Don't go now, don't disappear on me now," he yells angrily because if everything is going to fall apart, it's going to happen right here and now. 

"Dad?" 

There's nothing and Fraser manages to sit up against one of the walls. His arm hurts but it's the pounding in his head which creates a panic inside that's trying to crawl out and take control 

"Dad!" he repeats, only this time louder, angrier. "Dad? Mum?" 

Each time Fraser yells, chunks of ice fall from the walls, as if they walls are angry at the voice for waking it up, for falling down and disturbing it when all it wanted was to be left the hell alone. 

Without realizing it, Fraser is overcome with anger and rage and he begins to smash his elbow into the rock, again and again. He doesn't care about what falls on him or that he's too out of control. When he stops, the elbow in his coat is torn, so is the sweater underneath and his elbow is scraped raw but he never even notices. 

* 

"This is it? You dragged me all the way back here to show me where he did his name in the snow?" 

Ray is looking down at the miracle of 'Bento-' in the snow. He's exhausted and the dogs are barking, walking around each other furiously. It takes him a second before he realizes the worst. "Oh, shit! Fraser---" He begins calling for the author until he and Diefenbaker find the opening to the shaft and peer down. The ground begins to give way and Ray pulls Diefenbaker back by the collar before he disappears. 

"Fraser, you down there?" 

It's too windy for an answer but he sees the Mountie's gloves in the snow. Ray grabs a flashlight, a rope and a blanket from the supplies and begins the kind of a rescue that Fraser would be able to pull off in his sleep. The rope is safely tied to a tree, knotted in all the right places and the flashlight beam confirms that it is Fraser at the bottom of the shaft. 

"Okay, I'm going down there. You stay here," Ray orders to the deaf wolf who is dancing back and forth in anxiety. Ray doesn't seem to notice the absence of interest in his plan. "Okay. Good. All right, so you stay and I'll ... go." It's not the bravest of pre-rescue speeches but it will have to do. 

* 

Fraser hears someone coming towards him and the relief he should feel comes out in anger. "Where the hell have you been?" But it's not his father he's yelling at, it's Ray. 

"Give me a break, will ya, the mutts went as fast as they could." Ray has eased himself down to the bottom and finds his friend sitting forward, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Fraser- y'okay?" 

Fraser slowly looks up. There are dark circles under his eyes and he is clammy, almost sickly pale. "Sorry, Ray." 

"You look awful. What the hell happened? Put your coat on. It's like twenty-below out there." He grabs Fraser's parka and tries to wrap it around his shoulders but it's not easy in the cramped space. 

"It's too warm." 

"Too warm?" Ray puts his hand on Fraser's forehead. "Shit, Fraser, you've got a fever. I shoulda known you were sick. Come on, let's get out of here. Put your coat on, the temperature up there will kill you, I swear it will." He doesn't wait for an argument and begins putting Fraser's arms through the coat sleeves. "Does anything feel broken?" 

"Nothing broken," he replies and conveniently ignores the battering his elbow just took. 

"Good. That's good. Okay, remember how you hoisted me up the side of that mountain on your back till we made it to the top? Right, well if I try to carry you up on my back we're both going to end up down here dead so I'm going to climb back up and use the dogs to help pull you by the rope. When I get up, you tie the end of the rope around your waist, all right? You can do that?" 

"Just get me out, they're not here. I don't want to wait." 

"Huh? Who isn't ---" 

"Never mind. Go." 

Ray does as he's told, and so does Fraser. In a few minutes, the dogs and Ray are pulling him up with everything they've got. 

In the daylight, he looks worse. Ray sits him down on the sled, covers him with a blanket and rummages through the supply bag until he finds the first-aid kit. "Take 'em," he orders, jamming two aspirins into Fraser's hand. He opens a bottle of water and thrusts it into the other hand. 

"I don't need these." 

"Yes you do. You've gotta get your fever down and you need these. Take 'em." 

His air of authority surprises both of them and Fraser does as he's told. It's a blurry time but he remembers Ray unknotting the cluster of dogs and feeding them. Diefenbaker waits at the front of the line for Ray's commands and when they come, the sled pulls away with uncommon ease. That's all Fraser remembers of the ride because he falls asleep the moment they begin. 

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices are trees. They are tall, snow covered green and most of the green is on the ground. Ray has dug a wide hole in the snow is connecting broken tree limbs to each other for cover. There is wind and snow falling around them. The dogs are untied and resting near the fire. Fraser is still on the sled and he can't move even though he tells himself that he wants to. 

When the lean-to is completed there is enough room for the dogs, two humans and the supplies from the sled, and a fire. "You've done a good job," Fraser shivers quietly. "I may have left the dogs outside but that's just me." 

"Yeah, well, I'm the head builder-guy so they stay in here with us seeing as I never would have found you without them or Dief making them turn around or me finding your name whizzed out in the snow like that. You had to go for the full name, didn't you?" 

Fraser tries to smile. "You couldn't finish 'Raymond'?" 

"I just know my limits, is all. Some days are 'Ray' some days are 'Raymond'." 

He rolls out the sleeping bags, starts the fire and makes Fraser change into dry clothes. Ray doesn't show a hint of concern that Fraser is as sick as he looks. He's never seen Fraser anything but under complete control of his faculties, and now is nothing if not unnerving. 

**PART 4**

"Hungry?" 

Fraser shakes his head. He's lying in his sleeping bag, motionless because the pain in his head is almost crippling. There is a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. 

Ray sits down on his sleeping bag and nudges Diefenbaker out of the way. "Move down, will ya," he quietly orders. Diefenbaker silently makes for the end of the sleeping bag where the other dogs are sleeping. 

Ray looks down at the prone figure next to him. "Still feel like crap?" 

Fraser nods. 

Ray takes out the thermometer and reads it. Don't look worried, don't sound worried. "You still got a fever. I'll give you some more aspirin later, it's too soon right now. Listen, tell me again; you got the headache when you fell or before you fell?" 

"Before I think, it doesn't matter. I've never had one this bad." 

"But you get 'em, right?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Okay. And it does matter. If you're sick that's one thing, if the headache is part of the fall, that's another. You should have told me you were sick. How long do you think you were down there for?" 

"I don't know, I don't care." And he never wants to think about it again. 

"I've been looking at the map and if we really haul ass tomorrow we can detour to this small town I found. There's bound to be a doctor or something there, right?" 

"Probably. Don't worry about this, Ray, I'll be fine. I was feeling a little under the weather earlier today. It will pass." 

"Yeah, well, when you can say that with your eyes open, maybe I'll believe ya. Listen, the dogs are fed, Dief''s settled in by your feet so everything's okay here for the night. Think you can sleep?" 

Another shrug of the shoulders. "I don't know." 

"You want me to read out loud or just talk or something? I don't brag about it too much but some people say I can put 'em to sleep with the lulling sound of my voice." 

Fraser tries to smile. "Lulling is good." 

"Okay, I'll lull. You know what I want to do most when we get to town? Have a bath. Not even a shower. A bath. Nothing personal but your ideal of hygiene out here isn't quite mine. I want big, lathering soap. And a bubble bath. Mr. Bubble. That's the only kind. And it's gonna be a deep bath. None of that water saving crap, I don't care how small the town is." 

"I'm sorry about what I said about Stella," Fraser quietly interrupts though it must be costing him dearly right now. 

"Yeah. Well, me too. About what I said about the Inspector." 

"In some ways, I'm jealous that you've had a wife, one who loved you as much as you did her. I've never had that. Stella still cares about you. That must be comforting." 

Ray doesn't know what to say. Fraser doesn't usually give himself away like this. "Thanks," he replies, embarrassed by the truth, flattered by the offering. "Hell, the Inspector, she's got a thing for you too. Anyone can see that." 

"Really?" 

"It's kinda obvious, Fraser." 

"Oh. Well, thanks." 

"I don't suppose you're feeling better or anything, are you?" 

"No. I might try to sleep, though." 

"Okay. Maybe I'll shut up now or something. If I'm asleep and you need anything, wake me up, okay? I'll give you more aspirin when it's time. We'll get you better." 

And there's something in his tone that suddenly eases Fraser's fear of never recovering. He wonders how Ray would react if he knew how much he trusted him right now. Would he panic with the responsibility or would he realize the value of his abilities and begin to give himself more credit than he usually does. He'll tell him someday. Now he wants to sleep himself out of this fever, this headache, their loss or his inexplicable rage in the pit, the one thing he can't shake or understand. If he told Ray about this, well, he'd trust him with this too. 

* 

"Fraser - hey, Fraser." Ray is gently shoving his shoulder, trying to wake him up. Four hours have passed since the last dose of aspirin and Fraser has been out cold while Ray has been reading the only book in Fraser's knapsack, the History of Canadian Prime Ministers. "Hey, Fraser, wakey, buddy. It's time for more aspirin." Ray helps him sit up. 

"What time is it?" 

"I donno. Two or three. How're you feeling?" 

"Not very well." 

Ray puts a hand on his forehead. "You're not as hot as you were. Come on, take these. They're bringing down the fever." Fraser slowly downs the first, then the second pill. He finishes the water and hands the empty bottle back to Ray. 

"Some chug-a-lug. You need to go to the bathroom?" 

"No." Fraser shakes his head. "I should but I don't." 

"It's the fever. It's just shutting things down for a while. It'll be okay. Is your throat sore? You sound funnier than usual." 

"No," Fraser lies but it doesn't do any good. 

"Yeah, right. Lemme me have a look." Ray leans over and shines the flashlight down Fraser's mouth. "Wow," he remarks in amazement. Ray snaps off the light and sits. "It looks pretty red. Hurts?" 

Another nod and Fraser lies back down again. Ray refills the plastic bag with more ice and snow and puts it back over his eyes. He adds another blanket to the sleeping bag and natters away in a quiet voice about absolutely nothing until he's sure Fraser's asleep again. 

Ray dozes off for a few moments when a voice sneaks its way into his mind. Fraser is talking in his sleep again. Ray has grown used to this during the healthy part of the camping trip, often hearing Fraser recite inane parts on the Canadian Code of Conduct. But this time it's different, this time it's personal. He begins talking quickly to his father, then to his mother. They are going someplace and Fraser is trying to find out where. Then he starts mumbling something about Diefenbaker and a fire escape and the upcoming elections in the Territories. 

* 

Early morning and the snow has stopped, the wind has decreased. It's time to go. Ray has had something to eat, Fraser's had some water. Neither one feels like moving. Ray lies with hands under his head, admiring the bark and branches that are his creation. 

"Did you sleep at all?" Fraser asks. 

"A little," Ray lies. None at all, is the truth but he'll complain about that when Fraser is better. "We should get moving. Sooner we go, sooner we'll find that town. You're doing a lot better this morning than last night. You'll be just fine. You sure mumble in your sleep, no wonder your throat's so sore." 

Fraser's eyes widen. They aren't covered by the ice pack anymore because the blistering headache eased during the night. "I didn't," he begs in a whisper. "Did I?" 

"Oh, yeah." 

Fraser's face crumbles. "What did I say?" 

"Nothing much. Just - nothing much." Suddenly, Ray realizes what a bad time this is to bring up what is obviously an emotional subject. "You kept calling for Frannie to leave you alone, and to put away the leather whip thingy she has, that you weren't that kind of a boy. Yeah, you're a real sick puppy when you're out of it. You kept asking if the Inspector was around and---" 

Fraser is ill but he's not an idiot and he appreciates Ray's gesture to ignore what he may or may not have revealed in the night. He has vivid recollections of the million or so images that ran through his mind during his sleep, most of which had to do with his parents - then and now - and a few other ghosts from his life and he knows very well that flashes of Frannie and leather weren't part of them. 

"This is like every morning of my life," Ray is sighing, mercifully changing the subject. "Every morning, that damn alarm goes off and I can't get up to save my life. I just lie in bed, looking up at the ceiling thinking of how I can get in another few minutes of sleep. I hate waking up early." 

"But you've been up every morning so far by six-thirty," Fraser has to add because this ambiguity will puzzle him for the rest of the day if he doesn't. 

"Yeah, but this is different. This is nature or something waking me up. Getting up at six-thirty in Chicago to face a day at work is a whole other ball game. 

"I didn't know you felt that way about work. I thought you enjoyed your job." 

Ray shrugs. "I do now, since I transferred. There were some days before that when I didn't think I could face going to work. Same problems, same people in trouble. I mean, they were all different and everything but sometimes it was like if I saw one more poor slob who's had the crap kicked out of him cause he was in the wrong place at the wrong time - it just got hard sometimes. I kinda got into some bad habits. Things weren't really - they weren't good." Rays voice drifts away and he wonders when the last time was he thought about those days. He glances quickly at Fraser. He's been caught out and he's uncomfortable. "But it's okay now. You and those hoola-hoops you work with, now that's variety. I never woulda figured I'd end up in half the messes I did working with you. Learned about a ton of stuff, though. And I got that punch back. Like when a case unfolds and you run with it cause you know you're on to something and then, bamm, you've got it solved. That feeling's good." 

"I'm glad to hear it." 

"You like what you do? I mean, whatever the hell it is you're supposed to be doing over there?" 

Fraser nods. "I like it." 

"Remember that Bounty case, when I coulda slugged you and you could slugged me--" 

"We did slug each other," Fraser politely points out. 

"Yeah. I know. I guess I was wrong about the whole partnership thing. I coulda ended it right then and there." 

"You didn't. That's the positive side." 

Ray's turn to nod. He's thinking back to mistakes and burnt bridges that could have been but weren't. Trust Fraser to be on the positive side. 

"We should get going," Fraser says and Ray agrees. The real world awaits. 

* 

At five o'clock that afternoon, Ray and Fraser finally arrive at the only town on the map of their region. It is small, paved, very dark and has a dentist office that doubles as a doctor's office. The dentist is away but the doctor is in. They leave the dog-team with a trainer who will arrange for them to be sent back. Ray and Fraser tromp into the waiting room, full of snow and travel and, except for the woman behind the reception desk, they are the only ones there. Fraser drops into the first chair he finds and doesn't move fast enough to stop Ray from marching straight towards the woman. 

"Hi there. Listen, we need to see a doctor lickety-split. My friend the Canadian Mountie here is pretty sick and he's been out in the cold for the last week and I think it's probably just antibiotics he needs but I'd like a doctor to see him just in case--" 

"Ray," Fraser steps up from behind. He smiles weakly at the nurse on duty, fifty something and not in the mood. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but would the doctor happen to be visiting your station today by any chance?" 

"You're lucky. Doctor's here for another couple days. Have a seat, fill out this." She sticks a pink form into his hand. "You'll have to wait, though." 

"Hey," Ray interrupts. "He's a Mountie and he's been sick so that kinda takes precedence." 

"No it doesn't, Ray," Fraser tightly corrects and drags him back to the chairs where they both sit down. "Whenever you've got a moment," he calls back over his shoulder. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Ray wants to know as they sit back down. 

"Remember when you mentioned how in certain situations you feel as though I become labeled as 'the polite one' and you become the....Other One?" 

"Impolite? Is that what you're getting at Fraser, cause now's kinda like a bad time to get into this--" 

"Yes, I know," Fraser whispers, "But the medical institutions up here are a little different than you're used to and I think we should exercise just a little more gratitude that we've come at a time when the region's only doctor happens to be here." 

"So you're saying I should shut up." 

"Well, yes, kind of. If you wouldn't mind." 

"Fine." Ray takes the pink form from him. "Might as well kill some time, then. Okay, what do we have here. 'Name'. 'Benton'. Hey did I spell that right? Oh, yes, I seem to recall there being no 'N' when I saw it spelled out yesterday---" 

"Ray, please." 

'B-e-n-t-o'. What the hell, let's add an 'n'. Benton Fraser. Any middle name?" 

"No. I can fill out my own form, please." 

" 'Place of Birth'. Somewhere cold, I bet." 

"Rankin Inlet." 

"Where the hell is that?" 

"Somewhere cold." 

"Date of Birth'." Ray puts the form on his lap and looks oddly at Fraser. "You know, I have no idea when your birthday is." 

"You never asked. Can I fill out my own form, please?" 

"No, hold on here. Does anyone know when your birthday is?" 

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way." 

"I've been there almost two years and I don't remember seeing any candles or anything for you. Frannie throws an office party every time she orders a new shipment of multicolored paper clips, yet she's never dragged it out of you?" 

"Yes, but I managed to talk her out of acknowledging it in any way." 

"Oh, so she does know." Something about this is rather disconcerting. "Anyone else know?" 

"I don't know. I guess Ray knows." 

"Ah, so why can't I know if he ---" 

"November 25, are you happy?" 

"Yeah. Okay. I'm happy. So yer not one of those birthday people, right?" 

"No, and I never have been so please don't think you have to make up for any missed occasions," Fraser replies defensively. "At any rate, I don't know your birthday either, so let's drop it." 

"Sure you do." Ray thinks on this a moment. "Don't you?" 

"No. And I'll bet you're not comfortable with people making a fuss. That's why I don't advertise my own." 

"April 16." 

"Ah, well, there you are. A belated Happy Birthday to you." 

"And to you, Fraser." 

"Thank you. Can I have my form back, please?" 

"Not yet, we haven't done 'Medical History' yet." 

Fraser reaches out and plucks the form out of Ray's hand. "I can do this, Ray. It's personal." 

"So? What's so personal about tonsillitis and other childhood traumas?" Ray thinks this over and begins to answer his own question. "There's not something wrong, right? You're not carrying some family disease and you didn't tell me, right? Cause I don't know that I can handle that kind of thing right now. I mean, I'm tired, I haven't bathed, I haven't slept, I haven't eaten---" 

"It's nothing," Fraser finally interrupts "It's just personal." 

They settle in for a long wait and the room is oddly silent. Ray comments on the beer prices inside an old menu on the wall someone has decided to decorate with. "Pretty good deal up here." 

Ben points to the date. "Actually it's a little out of date. I'm afraid alcohol prices have gone up a little since 1974." 

Ray deftly hides his disappointment: "How would you know? You haven't been near liquor since you were baptized." 

"That's hardly fair, Ray. You don't have to be a math theologian to know the times table." 

Ray snickers and lets this one go. 

The outside door opens and a woman catches her foot on the mat and - literally - stumbles into the waiting room. "Oh shit," she grumbles pleasantly until she sees the other faces in the room watching. "Damn." She hurries past them and talks to the woman behind the desk "I'm late, aren't I? I knew I'd be late." 

"Better get in there," the woman behind the desk blandly suggests without looking up from her book. The new woman is about to enter the room where the miracle of medicine takes place when Ray jumps up from his chair, hops over Fraser's outstretched legs and lands at the door before she does. 

"Hey, no line jumping here, we were first." 

The woman just looks at him blankly while she struggles with her scarf, a red and orange number with an unusual design of an elephant. "So?" 

"So, no line jumping. My friend here is next." 

"Right." The woman rolls her eyes, smiles at the nurse and disappears into the room. 

Ray looks around for any one with any sympathy to spare and comes up empty. "Fine," he gives up and drops back down in the chair. He keeps a silent vigil at the door, the same door where nobody comes and goes for the next five minutes. 

Then, the nurse suddenly announces, "Okay, you can go in," as if she has just come up with the idea. 

"'Bout time," Ray mumbles. He follows Fraser past the nurse and into the doctor's office where he'll deliver one of his sternest lectures on The Evils of Keeping Your Patients Waiting --- 

"Oh, shit." 

"Language, Ray," Fraser weakly reminds him while Ray thinks up a fast apology for the woman in the lab coat, the same woman he barked orders to earlier. 

"Surprise," she sings and waves her hands in the air. "Yes, I'm the doctor. Is that okay, or would you like me to stay out in the waiting room while you're in here? Why don't I do that? It would just take a moment, really." 

The look on Ray's face sells him out completely. He's embarrassed himself again and he is properly quiet as he says, "No, here is good. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said ---" 

"He's had a lot on his mind," Fraser tries to help. 

"Yeah, we've been out in the wilds for the last week and he got sick. I wasn't thinking---" 

"He doesn't think much," Fraser tries again and wisely stops as they both stare at him. 

"I can do this, if you don't mind," Ray says before he turns back to the doctor. "I wasn't thinking. I just get impatient sometimes---" 

"Oh, I can vouch for that," Fraser feels compelled to add. 

This seems to have filled her need for groveling and the doctor picks up the clipboard with a smile. "Okay, that'll do. By the looks of both of you, I'm going to go with the 'Having A Lot On Your Minds' theory. I'm Emily, Dr. Zettle. Who are you?" 

Ray launches forward. "He's Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP and we've been traveling for a week or so and he got sick all of the sudden. Well, I think it was all of the sudden--- Fraser, I forget, did you get sick before you fell down that mine shaft or at the same time?" 

"Hold it," the Doctor interrupts with her left hand in the air. "I'm not thinking either. I left my ESP kit in my other office. Who are you?" She's addressing Ray directly with this one. 

"Oh. Me? Oh, I'm Ray ---" 

"Okay, that makes sense. Glad to meet you." 

"Kowalski," Ray politely continues, "Detective." 

"Detective, Elephant Trainer, it doesn't make much difference up here. Glad to know you all the same. And you," She points to Fraser, "What's your story?" 

Ray takes over again. "He fell down a well and when I found him he had a temperature higher than the moon, and he's also got a really sore throat which I figure is infectious and he couldn't talk for a while there, which wasn't exactly a bad thing if you know Fraser, and I think he's still got a temperature---" 

If nothing else, this prompts a chuckle from the doctor. "Okay, I get it. This is one of those Dog 'N Pony shows they keep threatening us with up here, isn't it?" 

"Huh?" both men reply at the same time. 

"Kidding. Ray, why don't you wait outside so you don't have to explain your friend's health and he doesn't have explain your behaviour. Honestly, this would work much better with just the patient. Not the patient, his doctor and his interpreter." 

Ray leans over to Fraser and quietly inquires, "Is she being sarcastic here?" 

"Yes, Ray, I think so. You wait outside, I'll be fine." 

"Okay. Don't talk too much, your throat is still infected. And make sure she gives you a prescription. And try---" 

"Ray," Fraser smiles and nods towards the door. 

"Okay, okay, I'll be outside." He gives Fraser the 'I'll Cover You' signal and leaves. 

"I'm sorry," Fraser apologizes. "He doesn't mean any harm. He's been up with me since I fell ill and he's concerned, and I don't think he's slept much." 

"I know he means well, but I'm also at the end of my day, and being told I can't go into my office doesn't always sit well with me. He's not the first person to assume the doctor is a fifty year old man. Anyway, let's forget about him and you can tell me what your problem is." 

Fraser spews out more or less the same thing Ray does, as the Doctor writes it down, one highlight at a time. Fraser's gift of being able to read upside down is thwarted by her swift shorthand and he gives up the effort. "And then I fell down an abandoned mine shaft," he concludes finally. 

"My, my, you did have quite a day. Actually, given your background, I'm surprised that you'd both travel so far apart. One of you should have known better. You're lucky he came back for you." 

"I know. I shouldn't have let the sled out of my sight. I just needed some time on my own, and that seemed to be the only way to get it." 

"I can see why," she chuckles, tilting her head towards the door where Ray had stood. 

"Oh, no, it's not because of Ray. I mean, we were beginning to get on each other's nerves anyway. There have just been a couple of other things on my mind that don't have anything to do with him. Yesterday morning was supposed to be a few hours on my own to think. Some plan, though. I'm lucky I didn't end up seriously hurt or ill or even dead." 

"Oh, worse than that, I may not have met Ray," she sums up grimly. "Just joking. See? I can joke. Only, I'm usually the only one who likes them." 

* 

Ten minutes later, Emily deposits some bottles on the nurse's desk and asks her to send those in tomorrow's run to the Whitehorse laboratory. Then, a familiar voice belts out from behind, "So? Is he gonna be okay?" 

When she turns around, Ray is directly behind her. His eyes are wide and worried until they land on the test tubes - then they turn to panic. "What in God's name is all that?" 

"These? They're just going to the lab. Blood, urine, nothing unusual. The results should be ready in a couple of days." She puts a business card in his hand. "But since you're moving on and I'm only here a few days until my next trip, call this number and you can get the results. My pager number's on there too. I've given him a prescription and you can get it filled tonight but you'd better hurry, the drugstore closes soon." 

"And he's okay, right?" 

"He's fine, Ray. It's an infection, just as you suspected. I think we caught it before it got worse. He'll be out of commission for a couple of days but from what I've heard, you could both use the rest." Emily puts her hand on his arm and squeezes it. "Hey, cheer up, you did great out there. You kept his fever down, you kept the aspirin coming, you kept him calm, you did all the right things. So stop worrying." 

"I'm not worrying, I don't worry, I'm just... concerned." He can tell she's not buying it and for some reason he doesn't understand, he blurts out, "He was just so sick for a while there, I didn't know what ... I just didn't know." 

"You do now. You did everything right. He should be out in a minute. Go get the prescription filled. They close up soon." 

*** 

At exactly 5:59 that evening Fraser and Ray find the only drugstore in town, even if it is only open for the next sixty seconds. Ray pushes his way through the door of Chester's Supplies against complaints that they are closing up and please come back tomorrow. 

"We got one minute on the clock," Ray announces as he breezes past the owner and heads towards the bath section of the store. "And I'm going to get my bubble bath if it's the last thing I do." 

Fraser looks sheepishly at the man and apologizes for his friend's abruptness. "We'll be out of your way in just a moment." When the man shows no signs of caring, Fraser tries again. "He's feeling a little grubby and hasn't had a bath in a week or so. I don't suppose you have a bath product called Mr. Bubble. He seems intent on finding that." 

"Go get your whaddyacallits, Fraser," Ray barks from somewhere down one of the aisles. 

"I'm looking for the pharmacist. I've got to get a prescription filled, preferably by tonight." 

The two shopkeepers look at each other and glance back at Fraser uncomfortably. "He's gone home," one of them finally answers. "You should come back tomorrow morning." 

"Yeah, he'll be back then," the other man helpfully adds. "You should come back in the morning." 

"I don't suppose he might live nearby that he might be able to do this one item. The doctor assured me the pharmacy would be open. I haven't been well for the last few days and apparently this is the medicine I need." Fraser pauses for a sneeze that erupts out of his head and into his hand. "Oh, excuse me, Ray, see if there are any boxes of Kleenex, please." 

"In a second," a voice replies, this time from the feminine-needs section of the store. 

Fraser politely directs his attention back to the bored clerk. "It's very kind of you to accommodate us. For some reason, he wants this particular brand of bubble-bath." 

The voice travels from three rows over. "I don't think he needs to hear the pathetic details of how I had to spend a week out there without taking a bath." 

"Yes, Ray." And Fraser turned back to the clerk. "We should be out of your way in just a moment." 

"No," Ray corrects. "We'll be out of your way when I find what I came in for. Where in the hell do you keep the ---" 

Ray doesn't hear the scuffle of feet because he's too busy pricing the differences between mild and deluxe. What catches his attention is the worried quality of the two words which separate Fraser from the rest of the men over the age of twenty-one in Chicago: "Oh dear." 

The door slams shut, rattling the bottles of shampoo above Ray's head. Carefully, he makes his way to Magazines and peers out behind the crche of plastic grapes. One of the men is standing by the door, the other is wielding a hand-gun towards Fraser, who is looking at something behind the counter. 

Ray sees what Fraser has noticed; three women, two dressed in shop smocks and the third in a white lab coat, are tied up on the floor. 

The robbery might be a clean success if the hold-up man doesn't become careless when he sneezes. He covers his nose with both hands and drops the gun on the floor, where it slides inches away from Ray's foot. It takes all of thirty seconds for Ray to step into view, kick the gun towards himself while Fraser tackles the Sneezer and his friend to the floor. 

Ray reaches for the fallen gun but Fraser calls out with a mighty, "No, Ray, don't!" as if the weapon is detonated to explode. It doesn't and Ray - not to mention the criminals - looks back over at him for a reasonable explanation. 

"You're not registered to fire a weapon in this country." 

"Shut up, Fraser," Ray yells back and bends over for the gun. 

"Ray, I'd be remiss if I didn't--" 

"Shut up, Fraser," the three hostages yell next. 

Ray has the gun on the robbers, Fraser is untying the victims and in a minute the entire ordeal is over. They become instant heroes. Nobody can be bothered to get their names right but they are the two guys who saved Chesters from being robbed, the clerks from being killed and the store from being, well, all bloodied up. There has been a lack of cleaning supplies in stock lately and this last blessing is a double one. 

In the aftermath of the robbery the pharmacist - grateful not to be dead \- fills out Fraser's prescription. The robbers are taken in and arrested, Ray makes a statement and goes to the hotel where Fraser has booked adjoining rooms and a shared bathroom, which turns out to be tub, toilet, sink and lightbulb. 

Later that evening, Fraser sticks his head in Ray's room for a moment to ask him something. Ray is sprawled across the bed, fully dressed and sound asleep. On the dresser is the full bottle of Mr. Bubble. The sound of running water takes Fraser to the bathroom where the tub is almost filled. Fraser turns it off, gently takes Ray's boots off and drapes a blanket over him. This day is over. 

**PART 5**

Ray sleeps through the night and most of the day. The sound of a garbage truck with a bad muffler wakes him up thirteen hours later. He doesn't know why his clothes are still on, why his boots are placed neatly by the door or why his bottle of Mr. Bubble is lying on the dresser, completely empty. 

"Fraser," he calls and gets out of bed. The bathroom is empty and there is a wet towel on the door. He turns the handle to the other room. "Fraser?" 

Fraser is in bed and holding the same book he's been reading all week. His room is as hollow and plain as Ray's. There is a glass of water, next to a bottle of pills on the bedside table. He glances up from the page. "Afternoon, Ray." 

"Afternoon? What time is it?" 

"A little after two." 

"Why'd you let me sleep so long?" 

"You needed it." 

"Oh." Ray sits down in the wooden chair in the corner and threads his hand through his hair. The day is slowly dawning on him. "You coulda woken me up. How are you feeling?" 

"Better thank you." 

Fraser looks better but despite these improvements Ray can't help feeling that there is something missing. There's a light gone from the usual Fraser shine. "Well, that's good, I guess. You been eating?" 

"A little. I also seemed to have recovered the use of my bladder. 'Number one', as you'd put it. You really did sleep through everything. I've been to the bathroom several times. I even had a bath with your Mr. Bubble." 

"You finished my Mr. Bubble." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't think to empty the water until after I'd shaved and when I looked around Diefenbaker had climbed into the tub and knocked over the rest of the powder. I'll replace it for you." 

"Oh great. A deaf, half-wolf who smells like a bubble bath. They'll never see the likes of that up here again." 

"I doubt it. Why don't you have a bath, freshen up. I think there's still some residue of the Mr. Bubble in the tub." 

Ray's hand goes over the sharp stubble on his face. "I guess. So you're okay then." 

"Yes." Fraser puts the book down and hesitates. "I'd like to thank you for everything you did for me out there. Well, not just for saving my life, but the way you looked after things. You have remarkable care-giving abilities, has anyone ever told you that?" 

"Not til now," he says cautiously. 

"Well, you do." 

"Okay. Are we done? How are you doing with the pills, did you get enough to do the job?" 

"I've got plenty." 

"Kleenex? Aspirin?" 

"I don't need you to look after me anymore. You should go out for a walk, eat a hot meal. They have a cinema here, go see a film. Take Diefenbaker out for a run." 

Ray thinks this over and gets to the heart of his dilemma. "I think I'd like to have my bath first." 

"Understood." 

* 

He's sitting in the diner, nursing a large mug of coffee and trying to keep from going around the bend of boredom. Ray flips through the newspaper and doesn't find anyone he knows. Usually, rifling through a day-old copy of the Chicago Times he can nail five or six names of people he's either arrested or thought about arresting. Here, in the Daily, which turns out to be a weekly, there is barely a mention of crime. Clearly, he's out of his element. 

A shadow slowly covers the 'Daily' crossword puzzle and a voice follows. "Hey, Hero." 

It's Dr. Emily and she's smiling down at him. Ray happily closes the paper. He's saved from his isolation. The other patrons have been looking at him, whispering among themselves and he hasn't figured out about what until now. Even the man who flashed an expensive camera in his face didn't have the nerve to speak to him. 

Emily sits down and points to the paper. "Next edition, you'll be in there." 

"Well, just make sure they get my name right." 

"Couldn't believe it when I heard it. You two walk out of my office and right into the third robbery attempt this town has had in five years. I hope they didn't make you pay for whatever it is you bought." 

"Ha, they did." 

"So how is the patient?" 

Ray is looking carefully at her. There is something about her eyes that he can't put his finger on but she's very pretty and he's trying to think of how he could have missed this important detail the first time around. 

"Your friend?" she tries again. 

"Oh, yeah, him. he's good. Getting better every day." 

"He's only been here one day." 

"Well, there you go then." 

And she hasn't left the table yet. He's waiting for the barrage of 'Tell Me About Your Canadian Mountie Friend And Don't Leave Out A Detail' questions but this doesn't happen either. 

"The antibiotics are working then." 

"Seem to be." If there is a discrete way, Ray will maneuver his eyes towards her left hand, fourth finger down to see if there are any disappointing signs. 

"Tell Ben I said 'hello'." 

"Who?" He's missed the boat again but this time he had a purpose. 

She laughs and playfully taps the side of his head. "How's the old hearing in there? Ben? Your friend?" 

"Oh yeah, him. Sorry, everyone usually calls him Fraser or Frase. Or Freak, depending on the day. I don't think I've ever heard anyone call him Ben. His old partner used to call him Benny - real original." 

"He told me to call him Ben." 

"That's weird. Never occurred to me he'd go by any other name than Fraser. Like who's going to call him Benton?" 

"I'm sure his parents don't go around calling him 'Fraser'." The image of a six year old introducing himself as 'Fraser' is unusually clear in Ray's mind. For the first time, so does the image of the six year old introducing himself as Ben. Maybe he became Fraser when his mother died and his grandparents took over. 

"So what brings a Canadian Mountie and a Chicago Policeman up this far north?" 

"Him." Ray jerks his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction he supposes the Canadian Mountie would be lying in bed, reading the History of Toenails. "We had a case up here. He's from up here." 

"Speaking of which," She pulls out a folded map from her coat and gives it to Ray. "Could you give this to him for me? Tell him Doonans Point is on here." 

"What the hell is Doonans Point?" 

She smiles and taps the map. "Ask Ben, he wanted to know." 

"Great, one more thing for him to be an expert on." 

Emily hesitates a moment before asking, "Is something bothering him? I mean besides falling into a mine shaft and getting sick?" 

"Why?" Ray asks, strangely guarded. For some reason, he assumes this line of thinking is in his domain only. 

"I don't know. I couldn't put my finger on it. He seemed... down. Something. It's just a guess, I've only met him the once." 

"Yeah. He's been going through some family stuff. But he's fine. He'll be fine. Frasers are always fine." 

"Good. I'll leave him to you---" 

"Where're you from?" he suddenly asks because there's lots he would like to know about her. 

"Montreal." 

"Oh, so you speak that French language thingy?" 

"A little," she says before diving into a French explanation of where she was born. "And yes, I speak both." 

"That's cool. You don't have an accent or anything. Not that that would be bad, it's just... oh, never mind." 

"I get a lot of that from Americans passing through." 

He's about to dive from one burning ship onto another "Is there any other place to eat around here?" 

"A restaurant a few streets over, that's about it." 

"That one, yeah, I saw it ..." He hesitates almost a second too long and finally blurts out, "Would you be interested in going there for dinner sometime...like, tonight maybe." He knows from the degree of anguish this last question has just caused that he has got to do this a lot more. 

"I can't, I have frostbite tonight." 

"Frostbite?" 

"Frostbite workshop," she explains. "But I'm free tomorrow evening." 

"Tomorrow's good." 

"Great." She gets up from the table. "I've got to get back to the clinic. Six thirty okay? I can meet you there. See you then." 

He watches her leave and can't believe this has actually turned out well. His mind boggles at the thought. Suddenly, Ray no longer feels the need to kill time here and feel strange among people who are still staring oddly at him when they think he isn't looking. He's got plans and he may just take a walk. He puts the map in his pocket, leaves a tip and gets up from the table. 

"That's him," one man whispers to another when Ray passes. 

"That the idiot who wouldn't use the gun?" 

"No, not him. This is the other one. The smart one." 

* 

"You don't have to keep checking up on me." 

It's almost eight o'clock that evening and Fraser is still in bed, still reading his book. He's irritable again and isn't bothering to be polite about it. He's already asked Ray twice to leave the room. 

Ray is slumped in the wooden chair, his legs resting on the end of the bed and he is shuffling a deck of cards. "I'm not checking up, I'm just bored." 

"Couldn't you be bored someplace else?" 

"No." He thinks about mentioning his date with Emily for tomorrow but he won't yet. That kind of irresponsible behaviour only leads to trouble. No mention, no jinx. Simple. 

"A person could go nuts around here. Nothing to do except watch you get better and that's taking forever." 

"Go into town. Perhaps they have some evening social gatherings." 

"Oh, yeah, like line-dancing. Over my dead body, Fraser." 

"Then go out. Go for a walk." He points to Diefenbaker, who is sleeping in the corner of the room. "Take him with you. He hasn't been out all day." 

"You should talk. You haven't been out of here all day. You're the one who should be getting some fresh air, doing all that crap you told me to do." 

Fraser sighs the way he does when Diefenbaker whines too much about dinner. "I've been ill, how can I go outside?" 

"You're getting better. Haven't you heard of fresh air?" 

"It's almost twenty below out there. You go." 

"I meant in the daytime, when there's sun. Tomorrow we're going for a walk." 

"I'll see." 

Ray flips the cards with a little too much gusto and sends them cascading through the air in fifty-two different directions. For a brief moment it's a magical sight until the shower ends and the mess begins. 

"Oops." 

"You are going to pick those up, aren't you?" Fraser asks quietly from behind his book. 

"Yeah, probably." But he doesn't give any indication that he plans to get up. Instead he says, "I didn't know you liked to be called 'Ben'." 

Fraser doesn't look up. "I don't, necessarily. I'm used to being called Fraser. Everyone's called me that since the Academy. Except for some of my friends back home in the north, I suppose." 

"We call you Fraser in Chicago and we're your friends." 

"Yes, that's true but then 'Fraser' started and I guess I never bothered to correct. It just seemed easier for people to call me Fraser. Though occasionally Francessca will call me 'Benton' and it has a nice ring to it." 

"'Fraser'. It does sound kinda formal but then again, you're a formal kinda guy." 

"Am I?" Fraser hasn't thought of himself this way in a long time. 

"Yeah. Sometimes. I mean, that's not a bad thing. It's just you. One side of you is formal, another part is just plain weird and the rest is... you. Fraser. Ben. Whoever the hell you are." 

"Inspector Thatcher called me Ben once. It sounded so sweet, so familiar. As it turned out, she was only pretending; a ruse to make an unwanted gentleman caller feel unnecessary. But it was so nice when she said it." 

"That's kind of lousy, making you think one way just so she could turn off some Joe." 

"Well, she didn't mean to make me feel uncomfortable. She had to do some fast thinking on her feet and that was what she came up with. She explained and apologized in my apartment later that evening." 

"Ooooo," Ray sits up in the chair. "Now we're getting some place. I knew there was some little history between you two that you never told me about." 

"I'm afraid that was the extent of the visit, Ray, so you may resume your bored slump in the chair or pick up those cards and put them back in the pack." 

But Ray only resumes the slump. He's getting irritated with Fraser's continual brush-offs at any kind of personal conversation. The only thing private they'd talked about was when Fraser was sick and practically at his mercy. How do you come through the case they'd just been on, arrest your mother's murderer and feel nothing. Fraser is good, but he isn't that good and if he expects Ray to think he is, he's crazy. Ray will act nice and not invade this self-proclaimed space of Fraser's but he has every right to make sure his horse has enough water. He just can't make him drink it if he doesn't want to. 

Ray leans over and begins picking up the cards. "Only because I'm bored," he mumbles back. But it doesn't matter, Fraser's eyes have drifted back towards the window and he isn't listening anymore. 

* 

(The rage which came over me when I fell down that hole changed something and now I can only see the negative, failure side of my father and what I found out. I'm trying to think of the differences between Ray and me and if he was in my position now, how he would deal with these feelings. I tend to think Ray would be more direct and proactive than I feel. I've seen Ray at his own definition of rock bottom only once and he still seemed able to crawl back up, despite what he had to go through. If Dad was here, I don't think I could look at him. He shouldn't have done that to her. What he put her through in those last moments. He didn't even get that right.) 

* 

The next morning Ray gingerly opens the door to Fraser's room hoping to find him asleep. He wants to borrow something but Fraser might want to know where, why, and all of the other annoying questions that go with a favour. So he will sneak in, find what he needs and sneak out. 

"Shit." 

Fraser's awake, and dressed in his RCMP track suit. He is lying on the unmade bed with his book propped up on his chest. His eyes are looking past the top of the book, out the window. He doesn't notice his door creek open, he doesn't hear Ray hiss the four letter word, he doesn't even notice the door creak shut. He is a million miles away. 

* 

"Lets go for a walk." 

It's a few hours later and Ray is in the doorway, wearing his coat and holding Fraser's. 

Fraser glances up from the diary he's been writing in for the last half hour. "Pardon?" 

Ray holds up the parka. "Walk. You, me, now. Let's go." 

"No, thank you. You go ahead. Diefenbaker, go for a walk with Ray." 

The animal and the friend scowl at the same time. Neither likes being dismissed into the custody of the other. 

Ray tosses the coat through the air. It sails across the room and lands on Fraser's knees. "Lets go." 

Outside is another world and Fraser is wishing he'd stayed indoors. He and Ray walk along the unshoveled sidewalk and it feels dangerously unstable, as if any moment it is going to slip out from under him. 

"We should talk about plans," Fraser says unexpectedly. 

"You sound like you got some." 

"I'm not going to my dad's cabin after all." 

"You're kidding. I thought you were all pumped up to go." 

"No. It's just a pile of burnt wood. He can worry about his own ashes, they're his problem, not mine." 

Ray scoops a handful of snow from a fence. He packs it into a ball and sends Diefenbaker chasing after it. "You seem pissed off. Everything okay?" 

"Yes." 

"So is yer Dad the one you're pissed off at? I'm just checking cause if it was me, you would have told me, right?" 

"I'm not angry at you. I'm not angry at anything. Nothing that's here anymore." 

"Come on, what'd he do? Hold back on the allowance? Keep you grounded?" 

"He buried my mother in the wrong place." 

"Huh?" 

"It's stupid. It doesn't mean anything. My father chose the location to bury her; It was where they met and it was very far from where we were living at the time. I think he wanted it that way, to spare us both. Now that I know everything, it makes even more sense. He didn't mean to plan it that way. I don't think he thought it through, that it could have been a way to keep her closer to us." 

"I guess that'd tick you off a bit. You ever tell him you were mad?" 

"Once. When I graduated from the academy. I asked him where it was, he wouldn't tell me. I said she's my mother and that I wanted to go. There I was, a full-grown man and I sounded like an eleven year old. I think I alarmed both of us. The only time I ever fell out with him was over this; that he chose one thing when I needed another. And it was silly because it had happened so long ago. He was only doing what he thought was best at the time. He knew he'd made a mistake, he just didn't realize how angry I had been about it. I suppose I still am. Only he's not here to confront any more." He hangs on the words 'any more' and shakes his head. "It's silly to dwell on it." 

"So he made a dumb decision when he wasn't thinking clearly. Who hasn't? You must have some time in your life. God knows I have." 

"When." The word is more a challenge than a question by the time Fraser is done with it. 

This is getting closer to home than he wants to go. Ray shifts uncomfortably and twists his neck. "That woman I almost sent to the chair. I messed up big time with that. You know, you were there." 

"But she wasn't family or friends. Did you ever do something like that to people close to you, that maybe they had trouble forgiving you, even though they wanted to?" 

"Stella and I had some pretty tough words when we split. I know I hurt my folks a lot, especially after I became a cop. I mean we've covered some ground since then, but I still think there are times they'll never forgive me for the things I said, did." 

"There are people I'd forget if I could...people I've cared about that I made mistakes about. Big mistakes." 

"Like that Victoria?" Ray receives an understandably peculiar look from Fraser. "You mentioned the name when you were on one of your mumble-paloozas in your sleep. Okay, I also accidentally overheard something once and I asked Huey. He told me what happened. He said nobody ever talks about it much, especially you." 

"Why didn't you ask me about it?" 

"I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to. That you probably didn't want to go over it again." 

"No." 

"You're still not in a talking mood, are you?" 

"No. I'm tired and I just want to crawl back into bed. It's cold out here." 

Fraser complaining about the cold doesn't win any acting awards, but Ray pretending to believe him will. He'll talk when he wants to, Ray reminds himself. He'll talk when he wants to. 

* 

"You're shaving again?" 

Ray glances up once and sees Fraser through the steamed mirror; he's leaning against the bathroom door, his arms crossed, he's still in the only sweatshirt and pants he owns, still not looking like he has any plans of ever leaving this motel. Fraser has spent the rest of the day sleeping, reading and sleeping. This is starting to worry Ray but he'll let it go for now. 

"Yeah. So what?" 

"It just seems unusual, you shaving twice in one day--" 

"Fine, fine. I'm going out to dinner with your Doctor. I don't have to ask your permission for that, right? Nah, that's only sisters and cousins." 

"Oh. Well. That's good. She seems like a very nice person." 

Ray talks to him through the mirror. "You can come if you want. I mean, just for desert or something, but then you gotta scram. I got an actual chance at a normal, nice evening here and I don't want you mucking that up." 

"Oh, thank you Ray, I couldn't have heard a warmer invitation. All the same, I'll pass. I have a --" 

"Yeah, yeah, you have a good book. That's all I've seen of you since we got here." Ray washes the rest of the soap from his face and does a double check. "I don't have any soap on me, do I?" 

"No more than usual. Where are you taking her?" 

"To that restaurant across from the post office. I took a look in there this afternoon, it seemed clean enough." 

"Did she ask you or did you ask her?" 

"I did the asking. Man, you should have seen the nerves in my gut. I hate doing that. Turned out okay, though, her saying yes." 

"You should give yourself more credit." 

"Ha. Credit. That's the first thing to go, my friend. Anyway, she seemed interested and that'll do for now." 

*** 

I've come to realize with some shame that part of the reason I wanted Ray to come with me was so I wouldn't have to face feeling sad about them leaving. But now that sadness has turned into something else and I don't know what to do about it. If one was to ever lose one's mind, I wonder if this is what it would feel like. 

* 

"I don't usually do this on the first date," Ray sighs, out of breath. 

"Neither do I." 

"Look, you can't tell Fraser about this, right? Or anyone." 

Emily rolls her eyes. "What the hell do you have to worry about? You're just passing through. I'm the one who has to work around these people." 

"Yeah, but word gets round, you know. I got a reputation to protect." 

"Not any more, you don't. And you sure know how to shake it." She sits down at a table, exhausted. "I never would have thought you had that kind of energy in you. Nothing personal." 

"It's that tall, skinny exterior thing. Fools 'em every time." Ray drops into the chair across from her and leans across the table. "I'm an animal!" 

"See, that's Line-Dancing for you, brings out the crazy person in all of us. Sorry I kept stepping on your toes." 

"You're an accident waiting to happen," Ray informs her. "I saw how you came tripping into your own office, don't forget." 

An older gentleman stops in front of them and tips his hat. "Nice moves, Mister." 

Another man points to Ray and says to his wife, "That's the robbery guy. Not the robber, though he kinda looks like he could be one." 

"I think this one looks nice," the wife remarks back to him. "That other fellow was too clumsy." 

"Mmmm," the man agrees and escorts his wife past the table. 

"Maybe I was wrong," Emily says. "You've already got a reputation around here." 

* 

Somewhere on the road to desert, Ray breaks his promise to himself, swallows his pride and brings up the subject of Fraser. "When you asked if he was all right, that you thought he seemed down or something. What'd you mean exactly?" 

"I meant he seemed quiet. Why do you ask? And don't say you were just curious." 

"I don't know. Maybe it's nothing but the thing is, he isn't being himself." 

"Himself as in....." 

"I don't know. He isn't acting normal." 

"So what's your version of his normal?" 

"This is a guy who goes to bed at eight PM back home. Since he's been here he does nothing but sleep in the day, write in his diary, and stare out the window." 

"Well, what about being sick? He was probably getting sick before he fell. You don't think it's the stress probably just catching up to him?" 

"Yeah, probably. It was a hard case we worked on, that's probably why he was cranky and quiet. He'll probably snap out of it. Maybe being sick before was part of it. It's just this gut instinct that's telling me he isn't right." Ray pauses just long enough to temporarily convince himself of this. "Okay, never mind. Maybe it's just me blabbering like an idiot cause of the case we were on. Here I am with you, having a great time and I'm worrying about Superbrain." 

"No, hold on. What was the case you were working on?" She is suddenly remembering Fraser's words in the office a few days ago about having things on his mind. 'What things?' would have been the logical question but she didn't catch it in time. 

Ray treads cautiously with the details, as if he's inherited Fraser's limited dose of information giving. "Just some nasty Sonovabitch who murdered somebody. Fraser took it kinda hard." Ray can tell she is watching him carefully and waiting for the punch-line. "Okay, the person he murdered was Fraser's mother, thirty years ago. Fraser never knew about what happened til this week. See, this is what I can't figure out. He's sure as hell not his usual kind of self when things get to him, but he's not what anyone else would be like if they were in his shoes. He's just ... someone else." 

"I guess that's what he meant. He said he had some things on his mind." 

"You think maybe I'm just reading him wrong? I only asked in case you had any ideas, like telling me if I ought to just shut up and leave him alone." 

"Hard to say. Maybe we should stop by later and say hi." 

"No good, he's gonna know I asked you." 

Emily makes a face and shakes her hands in the air. "Oooo, we're not scared of big ol' Ben are we? Come on, it's just me dropping you off, and stopping in to say 'Hi' to a patient. How in the hell did you ever become a cop playing footsy around crankier cops?" 

"Ha, you should talk. I seen you trip into your office, I seen you drop your spoon like three times tonight. How in the hell did you ever become a doctor?" 

"Oh, I had to buy off a lot of teachers. Hey, I kept your friend alive, didn't I? Now stop being such a saucy boy and tell me a little more about Fraser." 

*** 

"Frase. You awake?" 

Ray carefully opens the door but he can't tell if his prey is even there. The small table lamp is on but it's throwing shadows on the other wall and Fraser's figure doesn't match any of them. Then something stirs on the mountain of sheets on the bed. One hand appears, then the next and Fraser is waking up. 

Ray signals Emily to follow and they carefully step into the room. "Hey, someone wanted to stop by and see how you're doing with the medicine and everything." 

"Oh, that's--" Fraser yawns and realizes he's been caught sleeping almost in the raw even if it is by a medical doctor who tonight happens to be Ray's date. He scoops a t-shirt from the floor. "Excuse me, I---" 

"Oh, relax, I'm a doctor, remember?" she smiles. "Good to see you again, Ben. I just thought I'd stop by and see if you need anything." 

"You didn't have to go to that trouble," Fraser blurts out, fumbling with the shirt. 

"No bother, I had to drop Ray off anyway. So how're you doing? You look a lot better. Is your throat giving you any more trouble?" 

"No, no, it's fine." 

"Ray says you're sleeping a lot more than usual, but the medication shouldn't do that." 

While Ray rolls his eyes at being so blatantly sold-out, Fraser carries on with an all-out lie. "No, I think he believes that because every time he tries to check up on me, I'm reading, which to him is the equivalent of sleeping." 

This is a nasty jab and where it's darted out from is a mystery. Emily nods and tries not to catch Ray's confused eye. She picks up The Complete History of Canadian Prime Ministers from the floor and flips through the pages. "You're a reader from hell, right? Anything and everything?" 

"Pretty much," he replies. 

"Me too. The less I know about a subject, the better a book it turns out to be." Emily sits down next to him. The bounce of the mattress is slight enough but Fraser is more curious about the conversation to notice. "How long have you been reading this one?" 

"Off and on, since the trip began." 

"It's good. It's the only one I've read - next to Bruce Hutcheson's that is - that actually goes into detail about the four guys who took the office after Sir John kicked the bucket. Everyone else skips over them and marches right on to Laurier." 

"I haven't got there yet." 

"It's worth a look. Makes good bedtime reading. My problem is when I try to read to get away from my day, the more I read, the more I think about the day and the sleepier I get - even if I'm not sleepy. And then I'm too tired to read." 

"Yes. I know that feeling too." 

"Right. And the next thing you know, you're not reading to get away from it all. You're sleeping to get away from it all. You wake up over tired and it just seems easier to go back to sleep and stay there." 

"Yes," Fraser says. "Sometimes." 

"No decisions, no choices, no crap." 

"Sometimes," he repeats. 

Ray is standing by the door, expecting to be politely dismissed and watching with amazement to witness a side of Fraser he's never seen before. 

"Do you feel like that these days?" 

He won't answer her - or himself - because that will finish him off for good. 

"I suspect you know that your friend is worried and I also suspect you wish he'd just leave you the hell alone." 

Fraser avoids Ray's eyes and whispers, "Yes." 

"Listen, Ray filled me in on what you guys have been up to the last couple of weeks. That's a lot to deal with and you look really sad and really far away, which is your business, I know. But he wants to help, even though you have this invisible steel wall up that he doesn't want to cross because he's trying to be a good guy and give you some space. Sleeping, staying inside, not being interested in what's around you, especially when this part of the world is like your own backyard; sometimes these things are symptoms of depression. I'm not saying you have to change, or cheer up, or anything like that. I just want you to know there's a name for it and there are ways out of it. Just as sometimes there are specific ways into it. That case you guys worked through, finding your mother's -- that man - well, it sounded like a stressful one, maybe more than you thought." 

His jaw stiffened slightly. "I'm fine." 

"You don't seem fine. Would you like to talk? To me?" She nods towards the door. "To him?" 

"No, thank you. And I'm not prone to depression, or that sort of illness." 

"Don't kid yourself, anyone is prone, even me. It can hit anybody, anywhere for any length of time. Even Northern doctors on road a lot can get stresses we didn't know were out there." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply the wrong thing." 

"I know you didn't. I'll get out of your way, I just don't want you to be feeling any worse if there was something Ray or I could do." 

"If I feel worse I'll let you know." Again, a faint nod towards the guy at the door. "Or him." 

"Okay. I just wanted to check in and tip you off to something that could be going on, in case you might want to look closer." She puts her hand on his arm and gives it a tight squeeze. "I'm around for another day if you need anything, okay?" 

The gesture nearly does him in but he stays tight. "Thank you. I appreciate your stopping by." 

"No problem. Anyone who's a friend of Ray needs all the help he can get." Emily leans over and whispers in his ear, "Ask him about line-dancing sometime." 

She dodges the look from Ray and closes the door behind them. 

"Come on, walk me to my truck," She takes his hand as they walk down the hall. "You've got an unhappy friend back there." 

"You don't think you went too heavy on that depression bit, there, did you?" 

"That's all it takes for patterns to become a lot harder to break out of." 

"Patterns, signals, that's all jargon talk. He isn't being depressed, it's just a funk thing, right?" Ray holds the door open for her and follows her to the parking lot. "I mean, it just sounds kinda ... extreme, even for Fraser." 

Emily stops in the snow and pulls Ray to a halt. "Is this his usual behaviour?" 

"No, but---" 

"If he were back to normal would he spend his days indoors reading?" 

"No, he'd be out there with Dief." 

"That book he had - has he really been at it all week?" 

Finally, something he can't have argued against. "Pretty much." 

"Well, it's barely been opened. He said he hadn't got to the chapters on the missing Prime Ministers - those were four of the first six. He hasn't been reading it, he's been hiding behind it. Take him back to Chicago, Ray, he should work out whatever he has to there." 

"But isn't this a better place to be? It's as close as he's got to being home." 

"No, to coin a phrase, the lights may be on but he's the only one home. Listen, for what it's worth, here's what I saw in there; a tired, tightly wrapped man whose world just took another whack from what he found out about his mother. His dad's dead, he's got no other family except maybe you and a few other friends. You say he never talks about personal things. That's a lot of baggage to carry. Whatever trick he uses to keep the boogy man away isn't working so well right now." 

They continue walking through the packed snow towards her truck. Emily doesn't know if she should continue the discussion because she's seen the looks of dismissal and misunderstanding before and sometimes it's pointless to get past them. But the look on Ray's face isn't either of those. 

She stops by the truck and leans against it. "I'm not saying it's all-out depression or, if it is, that it's some life sentence of hell for anyone who comes near it. Anyone can meet up with it along the way and there are lots of varieties of symptoms, short term, long term, clinical, all sorts. It's just shades of it I saw in there but that's enough from everything I know." 

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" And this is the reason behind the dismissive looks and reactions from people about this subject; Ray has just gotten to it sooner than most. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. I know good guys, bad guys, shot up guys, dead guys; you know, the easy stuff. Fraser's not easy, it's like he's not even in English and I don't have an instruction book for him." 

"I know. Don't go and panic, that's first. See if he'll talk to you, if he's got any buttons you can push. This isn't like him, you know that. And if he still doesn't want to talk, take him home. Somebody making the decisions isn't always such a bad thing if you don't feel up to making them yourself. And I don't think he does." 

"Okay. I can do that. I've been through worse on this trip. I can do this. I can. But what if I screw up and send him round the bend or something?" 

"You won't, you won't. Just be a friend, give him some space but watch him like a hawk. And if he goes around the bend, well, maybe that's not the worst thing. This has taken hold of him, and I honestly think he needs to get it out." 

"He makes it very clear when he doesn't want to do anymore talking." Ray looks at her and carefully takes one of her hands in his. "You went through this depression thingy too?" 

"Yeah. I still do from time to time. Knowing what the name is helps, knowing what to do helps. But that's just for me. Everyone's different to a degree." 

"You seem kind of normal to me." 

"That doesn't mean I can't have shitty days, Ray. Besides, you haven't known me that long and if you did, and if I let you, you'd see the other stuff, too. Same with me and same with a lot of people." 

"Sorry. Guess 'normal' isn't the best word. Man, I don't know what's scarier - all of this with Fraser or the fact that you once read that book on Prime Ministers that he's got." 

"Don't knock our history. It's just as interesting as yours only we don't use as much fire power." 

She's got him there. "You really have to hit the road day after tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, I've got to go. Crappy timing, huh. If he was feeling any better, I'd suggest you come along for the ride but I think you're more needed here." 

Ray pulls her closer. "I wish I could. I could always put him on a dog-sled team and hope he lands someplace warm and---" The sentence dissolves into mumbled nothings as she kisses him and shuts him up. 

"You know, if I go back there, he'll do himself an injury getting mad at me. I really shouldn't be left there alone," Ray eventually says with a wicked grin before he bravely gets to the point. "I mean, if you wanted to, like, um...Stay over, kinda..." The silence that follows fills his face with the colour of pink embarrassment. "Damn. I shouldn't have said that." 

Emily smiles and pokes him in the shoulder. "You can't make an ass of yourself, that's my job. But I should go home. I'm up early again tomorrow and I had fun with you tonight. Believe me, I know how to make a mess of good things like this. But I still want to see you again. That okay with you?" 

"Absolutely," he smiles, very relieved that he hasn't made the one fatal step of insulting her. He's also slightly relieved that he won't have to spend the night worrying that Fraser might barge in at any possible moment to tell him he is just fine, just fine. 

"Listen, if Ben threatens you in any way, just tell him I've seen him naked." 

"Do you have to remind me?" Ray moans. He's the one he wants her to see naked, but he'll keep that much to himself, coy one that he is. "Is it okay that I asked you to stay? I'm sorry, it was a dumb thing to do. I don't do this very often. I don't mean I don't do that very often, I mean I don't ask very often. No, that didn't come out right either. Oh shit..." 

"That's okay, Ray, don't kill yourself here. I know what you mean. No it wasn't dumb, it was nice. You're nice. I'll see you tomorrow." One last kiss and she sends him on his way. 

Ray returns to his room, alone and tries to be quiet. He's thinking about the woman he's just spent the evening with and wants to remember everything about. He's worried about Fraser, and he's irritated with Fraser for overshadowing the one good evening he's had. He doesn't want Fraser to know he's back, that he's breathing and available for yelling at so he tiptoes around the room, forgoing the bath, and brushing his teeth one tooth at a time. 

When he opens the door to the bathroom, there is Fraser standing in the doorway of the adjoining doors with folded arms and a look on his face that would stop a Mac-truck. "Did you two have a nice evening?" he asks politely. 

"Yeah, fine." Ray stands in the doorway and waits. 

"You didn't have to check up on me," he says firmly. "I'm fine." 

"Okay, if you say so." 

"I say so. You also didn't have to tell Emily about my background, my mother's murderer. That was personal." This is getting closer to the reason for the glare on his face, the glare that is only temporarily everything else. 

"Maybe I needed to ask for some help on how to get you to stop acting like a space zombie, and to do that I had to tell her what else was going on with you." 

"That's my business." It's also the end of the discussion as Fraser walks past Ray and slams the bedroom door behind him. 

"For crissakes." Ray follows him into the room. "Listen, Fraser, it's not my idea of a fun date to spend any amount of time talking about you, so don't go thinking this was a blast for me. But I was worried and you were nagging at my brain so I asked, okay? Is that a crime? Oh, the perfect end to a perfect evening - just me, my date and you." 

Then the one elusive part to Fraser's face returns and a smile develops. It's been absent for days and it's been sorely missed. "Sorry about that, Ray. You like her, I take it? 

"You take it right. I think she even likes me a bit. Go figure." 

"Go figure what?" 

"Good night, Fraser." 

* 

(I know Ray and Emily meant well but I wish they hadn't come back tonight. I wish they'd never woken me up. I wish all of this would just go away because the memories that are coming back are becoming too painful to juggle. Perhaps I should go back to Chicago and forget any of this has happened; no Muldoon, no investigation, no Mum. It would almost be better if I hadn't seen her. I've been thinking that maybe I didn't really see her after all. It well might have been just an illusion from the fall and the stress of the case in general. The entire sight of my mother coming, my father going - remarkable though it was - might have been only in my imagination. Dad could well be hovering around and this melancholy that seems to have overtaken me is simply a mistake. Ray would know.) 

Ray was there. 

Fraser puts the pen down and looks around the room. It's two-thirty and he hasn't slept since he was interrupted. He has spent the last hour going over that particular detail of the day they captured Muldoon. He finally climbs out of bed, twists the door knob to the adjoining room and tiptoes across the carpet. 

Ray is face down under the covers, his head buried somewhere under two flat pillows, his bare feet sticking out at the end of the bed. He is out cold. 

"Ray." Fraser whispers and waits a moment. "Raayyyy." 

The corpse doesn't stir and Fraser carefully jolts what he can only assume is a shoulder. "Ray---" 

A sad little whine comes from the sheets and Ray's sleepy head slowly appears. But his eyes remain shut. "What! I'm sleeping." 

"When you and Frobisher found Muldoon and me down in that mine shaft, what condition was I in?" 

"What the hell time is it? I don't know - you were you. Go away, Fraser." 

"In a minute, I just need to know, was I dazed or out of it in any way?" He's just about to use the word discombobulated and changes his mind. 

"I don't know, you were normal. You were holding Muldoon by the neck and you look like you wanted to kill him." Ray burrows his head under the pillows again and tries to squirm his way back into sleep. 

"Oh," is all Fraser says and sits down on the side of the bed. It isn't what he wanted to hear. It isn't what he wanted to know. He did see her and this is all a reality. He won't see her or his father again. This time they are gone. 

He is sitting without realizing it until Ray's muffled voice drifts up from the hollow of the pillows. "You're still here, aren't you?" 

"No, Ray." 

"Is everything alright?" 

"Yes, Ray." 

"Gonna get out of my room now?" 

"Goodnight, Ray." Fraser creeps out of the room. 

**PART 6**

Ray and Fraser pass each other the next morning at the bathroom door, like two commuters on the platform. Fraser is coming, Ray is going. 

"Morning." 

"Morning." 

Ray pauses uncomfortably in the doorway before he lets Fraser pass. He hesitates and announces, "I think we should start making arrangements to get back to Chicago." 

He waits for the obvious I-think-not, but he doesn't get it. Fraser looks down at the floor for a moment, then back up at Ray. "Yes, perhaps we should," is all he says. He eases past him and closes the bathroom door behind him. Ray stands there like a dummy, not sure how that just went. 

*  
Ray returns from breakfast and hears an unusual amount of noise from the next room; thumps, bangs, a single bark from Diefenbaker. Fraser is dressed for the outdoors, and he is throwing things into his backpack without wasting a second. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Ray asks. 

Fraser stops what he is doing and looks up at Ray. "Can you make it back to Yellowknife? I'll find you the appropriate transportation." 

"Yeah, but what--?" 

"I'm going ahead on my own." 

"I thought you said you weren't going to your dad's cabin." 

"I'm not. I told you, I have no intention of setting foot near there. He wouldn't be there anyway, right?" 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Nothing, I'm just going somewhere for a while." 

"Fraser, that's not such a good idea, especially with how you've been feeling. Let's just stick to the plan and head back to Chicago." 

"No, that's your plan." Fraser resumes stuffing the rest of his belongings into the knapsack. "You go." 

"You really are losing it, you know that? It's that damn case. Something's snapped in you and it's been like that since you arrested Muldoon." It takes a moment for something to jar his memory. Ray turns around and points an accusing finger at Fraser. "You came into my room in the middle of the night asked me about this, didn't you?" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Yes you do. What did you see or think you saw, 'cause if you don't tell me I'll assume you're losing your marbles. I remember you when I found you in the shaft a couple of days ago. You thought I was someone else. You were waiting for someone---" 

"I was sick with a high temperature." 

"It's more than that. I've been with you over a week and you been some other place, not at a good one in your head. I've been playing the nice, quiet friend long enough, and the hell I'm letting you go off into God knows where while you're like this." 

"I fail to see what you're going to do about it." Fraser calmly buckles up the knapsack and swings it over his shoulder. 

"Oh, no? You may be heavier'n me, but I got my health not to mention a stronger left hook, and you're not going til you tell me what's going on. What's so hard about just talking about all that stuff you went through a couple of weeks ago if it's going to twist you around as much as it has? If this is about your mum and the guy who --" 

"I don't want to talk about her," Fraser calmly warns. His eyes stare into Ray and the words are a solid threat. He will not talk about her. He will walk past the man in front of him and leave the room if he has to club the man over the head with his knapsack to do it. 

Diefenbaker is standing between them, his head bobbing back and forth, his body shifting between both his allegiances who are shouting back at each other. Fraser can sense his discomfort from the corner of his eye. He surprises all three of them when he says, 'Dief, you stay with Ray." 

"You're not taking him with you?" Ray shakes his head. He's heard it all now. "Oh, yeah, you're fine, Fraser, thinking clearly and all---" 

"I don't need your analysis. Besides, he's practically adopted you on this trip anyway. I'll see you later." 

Ray steps in front of the door. "No, you're staying here till we figure this out or something, I'm not letting you take off, not the way you're acting." 

"Fine." Fraser slams his duffel bag into Ray with all his might and doesn't wait to see Ray tumble backwards over the chair and land, forehead first, into an open dresser drawer. 

"Go after him," Ray orders to the wolf in case the lip reading rumour actually works. He puts his hands to his head, as if that will stop the bleeding and tries to get up. He isn't going to catch Fraser but he tries and stumbles into the parking lot. There is no sign of Fraser and the only sign of Ray is a trail of fresh blood. In a moment, one of the cars passing stops. The driver recognizes the bleeding man as 'the smart one' from the robbery and asks him if he would he like a lift to the doctor's office. It's the best offer he'll have all day. 

*** 

"Stop moving, Ray, you're not helping," Emily orders as she tries to get a better look at the gash on his forehead. "That's a doozy." 

He's sitting on the table, leaning back against one arm and trying to keep his other hand away from the cut. He wants to be the one in control here and it's not doing him any good. "It's not bad, right? Just tape it up or something. I gotta go find Fraser before he finds a big cliff or --" 

"No, you stay quiet. I'm going to clean it and put some stitches in, okay? Then we'll figure out what to do about Ben." 

"No, just get me a bandage. I don't need sti---" 

"Hold this," She slams a towel in his hand and gently presses his hand against the cut. "Now don't move it." She turns and prepares the tray and the cleaning stuff for the wound. "And if you're worried about Ben, I'll ask one of the Constables to go after him. One RCMP officer after another shouldn't be that hard, right?" 

"I thought we aren't supposed to talk about Fraser." 

"You aren't, it's just a distraction." 

"From what?" 

"Nothing, Ray." 

Emily does what she has to and deftly stitches up the gash on her friend's head. The deed is finally done, he hasn't passed out but it's still a possibility on the scale of probabilities. "Still dizzy?" She guesses. His face is extraordinarily pale and his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. 

"A little." 

"You can't go after him yet, especially if he's still in the mood he was when he left." 

"It's just the way he was cooped up like that. He didn't mean to do it." 

"I know, but he still did. Let me see if there's a quiet place to put you for a while, just to make sure, okay?" 

Emily helps him sit up. "Feeling a bit woozy? 

"Yeah." 

A voice from the door quietly says, "I'll look after him." 

It's Fraser, with Diefenbaker at his side, and he is looking terrible, tired, and guilty. But he's back. 

* 

Convincing Emily to let him take Ray back isn't as difficult as he imagined. They both know Fraser won't let anything else happen to Ray. She gives Fraser the keys to her truck. "I'll pick it up and check on you guys when I get a chance," she promises, nodding to the full waiting room outside the door. It's the inclusion of Fraser in that promise that tells him she doesn't think he's a monster. She's just seen him for how he is. 

Fraser takes Ray back to the hotel and delivers him to his room. The trail of blood from Fraser's door to the parking lot is still fresh and it's going to cost Fraser a truckload of Canadian cash to clean. The only thing Fraser has said during the short trip back is an apology and the occasional, 'Watch Your Step'. It's precious cargo he's carrying and he knows it. He'll let himself down all he wants, but not Ray. 

He makes Ray wait at the door for a moment while he turns his bed into something civilized instead of the sheet-strewn clutter that it has become. 

"I need to go to the can," Ray says a little too urgently for Fraser's comfort zone. It's the first thing he's said to Fraser since the understated, "Oh, you're back," in Emily's office. He begins the slow walk across the carpet and disappears into the bathroom. There are no sounds of someone throwing up and, unless Ray is particularly silent at this practice, this is a good sign. He slowly cracks the bathroom door open and finds Ray leaning over the sink, waiting for something that probably isn't going to happen. 

"Nothing?" Fraser asks from the doorway. 

Ray shakes his head, his face even paler under the white bandage wrapped round his head. "False alarm." 

"Lets go." Fraser takes Ray's arm with one hand and grabs the empty garbage bin with the other. He puts the garbage can by the bed, just in case and drapes one of the blankets over Ray from shoulders to toe. " Emily said there's no concussio but I'm going to wake you every so often, just to make sure everything's all right." 

"Whatever," 

"Let me know if you need anything," he says, as if he believes Ray actually would. 

"Right," Ray mumbles. It will be a cold day in the north before he goes that far again. 

* 

Ray slowly wakes two hours later and wonders absently who is lying next to him. Is it Emily and why is her breath so awful? When he opens his eyes and lifts his head from the pillow he sees Diefenbaker sleeping next to him, his jaw open, his nose running. This much is disappointing enough until he sees Fraser sleeping in the armchair at the other end of the bed, his feet resting on the edge of the mattress, his arms tightly folded against his chest. Ray absently hopes he's as uncomfortable as he looks. He probably isn't but it's the thought that counts. 

He doesn't know how long he's been sleeping, but he does know he'd like to make a trip to the bathroom. His head still aches but not like before. The freezing has worn off and there is a piercing, grating ache that will only be removed by a pee, two aspirin and more rest, in that order. And if the guilty watchman at the end of the bed can sleep through it all, so much the better. 

Ray has just downed the second aspirin when a quiet voice from behind belts out, "You're up," with a frightening accuracy. 

"Holy shit, Fras---" Ray jumps and spills water down his front. "Do you mind?" 

"Sorry about that," Fraser apologizes but the fact remains, Ray is still up. "How do you feel?" 

"Wet, really, really wet, Fraser. You gotta stop doing that, jumping outta nowhere like that." 

"I'll try," he promises and hands Ray a towel. "Would you like me to get you something to eat? Toast, perhaps?" 

"No, I want you to buzz off until I'm feeling better." 

Fraser nods in agreements and wordlessly follows him out of the room. He waits until his friend has carefully climbed back under the sheets before he resumes his watch at the end of the bed. 

"Go away. You make me nervous when you sit there like that," Ray snaps. 

"Like what?" 

"Like you're waiting for some sign from me that I'm not going to be pissed off at you any more." Despite the sentiment, Ray has noticed that Fraser's eyes are reddened and tired, as though he's done too much thinking that ultimately turned against him. 

Fraser lowers his head. "I'm so sorry for hitting you like that. I shouldn't have done that, especially the way I did, just bolting out of here when you were trying to help. And I'm sorry for everything else besides hitting you, which is bad enough. I also mean about the way I've been acting lately." 

"Good, cause I don't think you know what you can be like when you---" 

"Please take it easy, Ray, you shouldn't---" 

Ray throws the pillow against the headboard and gives up his fantasies of sleep. "I'm tired of your rules, Fraser. I'm tired of this 'deer in headlights' look I get from you when you don't want to talk. We've just spent a week out there and when you get that 'back off' look, it's annoying. Okay, it kind of hurts my feelings, like I'm not a good enough friend to help. Well, I thought I was and you're not acting yourself so any other time I might be polite or chicken or whatever but up here things are different and you'd better tell me what's wrong." 

Fraser's head is bowed in shame, something he can't describe because of one more thing he didn't know he was capable of causing in other people. He stares down at his fingers which are spread open, one on each knee. "I'm not very skilled at talking about priv- perso- things like that," he finally says. 

"Neither am I, no one is. You just really stink at it." 

Fraser clears his throat tries to speak without drawing attention to the fact that his voice is crumbling word by word. "I don't know why this is so arduous but I seem to be having some difficulty with being angry at my father and perhaps it's you I took it out on this morning." 

"So what in God's name has got you so pissed off at a man who's been dead for a couple of years, that you gotta be going and clubbing someone else for it?" 

"It's hard to talk about." 

"No, it's not. From where I'm lying it's hard to live with, and I'm just the guy with the headache. What did he do that's so awful that you can't even talk? Is it where he had your mother buried?" 

"No. It's not just that." Fraser doesn't want to go on but something keeps him talking anyway. "It's what happened to her. Up until a few weeks ago, I had no idea that she had been killed by this man Muldoon. Everything I thought turned out to be a lie; that lie turned out to be a nightmare for her, for me." He hopes Ray can't tell from the catches in his voice what is happening to his eyes, that they are welling up for the third time this morning, but this time they mean it. That his throat is trying to say one thing and his insides are making something else happen. He remembers a case of food poising during a review at the academy and how the moment of truth came minutes before the Superintendent was to walk past him. It was as though an out of control baseball was shot up through his stomach and out through his throat. 

"I don't know what I'm doing. I miss my mother. I'm so angry at my father for everything he did...." His voice is disappearing and he if has to keep clearing his throat. Ray is going to see him. "I'm remembering things, things I thought I'd forgotten, the sad parts, all of them. I used to see the good clearly, now it's the other side I see as plain as day and it's all terrible. What he didn't do to prevent her death, her suffering, everything she went through when Muldoon .... Perhaps it's too vivid, but it's all I see. And I can't stop missing them all over again." 

The hands on his knees are fogging over with water, and he can't use them to clear his eyes away because they are shaking and so is the rest of him. He's forgotten that this is what real crying feels like and how frightening it is because it might never stop. Everything Fraser has kept outside the door for the past couple of weeks has finally crept in and hijacked his body. He is remembering her funeral; what his father must have done right after; why he couldn't have done anything to protect her when she was killed; the look on Muldoon's face a week ago. 

"Oh, man, Fraser." Ray has been expecting something but he hadn't expected to find it so open or so raw. He grabs a box of Kleenex from the dresser and makes sure he catches Fraser's eye before he puts the box in his hands because he doesn't want to walk around the elephant either. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were feeling this badly," he says and sits down next to Fraser. 

"Neither did I." But they both know he's lying. He tries to wipe his eyes but it won't do any good. "I shouldn't be like this, I'm sorry. It shouldn't have gone this far---" 

Ray waits a moment before trying again. "Listen, Fraser, my folks, they're alive and probably playing one of their electronic game thingys they have, so I can't even come close to guessing what this is like for you. But I do know from feeling like crap, the way you are right now. And I know the mistake you make by trying to keep it squashed outta the way until a better time comes along, but it isn't going to come. So you should let yourself feel like crap, you know what I mean? Like, you can worry about crying and stuff all you want, but that's not going to make the other stuff hurt any less." 

"No, I should be under better control than this." 

"Look, it's like you have this thing, this phobia thing about letting people see you when you aren't feeling so great, like now. It's not easy for anyone but we still do it, so shut up about this being brave crap." 

Ray remembers the last time when he couldn't stop crying. It was after the Botrelle case when he got into the car. Fraser sat next to him and Diefenbaker was in the back seat waiting to leave. Ray was hit with a flash of the woman whose eight years he took from her that she wasn't going to get back. He began to cry and he couldn't stop. Fraser didn't try to cheer him up or make him feel worse by being embarrassed. He just sat there, with his hand on Ray's shoulder until it was over. When Ray recovered, Fraser offered to drive and made a joke about his own driving skills. Ray said no, dropped Fraser at the consulate and drove home, where he sat on his couch for rest of the night until it was time to shower for work the next morning. Ray didn't speak to anyone and no one made an effort to speak to him, except for Huey and Dewey who mumbled something that sounded like, 'Sorry'. When he saw Fraser again that afternoon, he didn't care to pretend he hadn't reacted the way he did and he didn't acknowledge it either. He simply got on with it. 

"I wish I could make this stop and get past it but I can't. Why is everything coming back like this, all at once?" 

"It kinda sounds like it's stuff catching up to you and maybe you gotta wait it out. Sometimes this stuff doesn't go away for a while, being mad at things you were never mad at before. Everyone takes you for granted, Fraser, me too, that you're this perfect guy who doesn't let things get to him. But when you look at the long list of things that have happened to you, it's a miracle you're not in the loony bin or something." He knows full well this hasn't come out the right way, but neither of them correct him on it. It's just an awkwardly spelled out truth. They are both quiet for a moment and the room takes on an eerie mood. 

Something else Ray has wanted to say for a long time comes up. "I never asked about your mum 'cause I didn't know if you wanted to talk about her, even before any of this started. Not that you have to tell me about her or anything, just that it might do you some good. Maybe tell me some of the stuff you've been remembering." 

"No. It hurts too much." Fraser can only shake his head. His hands have melted into a tight ball that isn't going to come undone. 

"Then what Emily said about being depressed, you think that's something we ought to be worrying about? I mean, you've been feeling pretty crappy all week. I don't want to see you get any more worse than this." 

Fraser shakes his head, wipes his eyes and actually smiles. "I don't know if that's humanly possible right now." 

Ray suddenly remembers the conversation with Emily in the diner when she seemed to sense something was wrong. And she had handed him the map to give to Fraser. "Doonan's Point. Is that where your mum is buried?" 

"I was going to try and find it when I flew out of here this morning." 

"I figured it had to be something important. If you still wanted to check it out, I'd go with ya." 

Fraser wipes his eyes and tries to get his composure back before it deserts him again. "I'd like that. I just want to know where it is, that it's someplace safe." 

"We'll find it. Then we'll head home. Emily was right. You're feeling this crappy now, that's not good enough. Maybe getting back home might be a good start to get you back to normal. I get it if you don't think I can help, like to talk to. I mean, that doesn't hurt my feelings or anything." 

"You're sure?" 

"Yeah. Hell, you took me on this trip with you, you musta trusted me enough not to kill either of us." The next suggestion hits him with a nasty thud but he poses it anyway. "What about Vecchio? Maybe he'd be an okay guy to talk to." 

"No. The only one I can talk to about all of this is my father and he isn't coming back anymore." And the fact that he can't even begin to explain this irony is what aches the most. A week ago he could have had the answers, handled the anger, everything, all of it. A week ago he didn't know he would need it. 

"Then what about Frobisher?" The words roll out like lucky dice. "He seemed like a good guy, maybe he'd be okay to tell all this to." Because Ray is too unsure to pretend that he knows what he's talking about. Is this the way Emily would tell him to handle Fraser, because he didn't have a clue in hell. "Maybe cause he knew your folks. I don't know, Fraser. I don't mean to sound like I'm trying to pawn you off, I just want to make this better and I don't know how." 

"I don't either." 

There is a knock at the door and the handle turns. Emily quietly walks into the room. She sees Ray sitting next to Fraser at the end of the bed. Ray looks up and nods but Fraser quickly wipes his eyes and keeps his head lowered. 

"Hey guys, I got a few minutes away from the clinic so I just wanted to see how you're doing," she whispers. She delicately sits next to Ray on the bed. "How's the head? Stitches holding up?" 

"It's okay." 

Emily leans forward and speaks to Fraser. "Ben, how are you doing?" 

Fraser lifts his head and tries to smile. He wants to wash his face a million times until every tear and sad sign are gone. "Been better," he admits. 

"We're thinking of making a trip to Doonan's Point. You know any quick ways to get there?" Ray asks. 

"I drive past there tomorrow but I can't take the truck all the way in. Could you do the hike on your own? I could wait." 

Ray looks at Fraser for an answer and makes it for him. "Yeah, that'll be good." 

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting," Fraser quietly said to Emily. "If I've been rude to you or short with you, I hope you'll accept my apology." 

"Oh, for Godsakes, you haven't been any of those things. And if you had, you have some things going on." 

"Yes." 

Emily looks at Ray for any kind of hint. "Fraser's not feeling so great," he quietly explains. 

"Overload?" Emily suggests. 

"Big time." 

"You going to be okay, Ben? People to talk to? Friends, that sort of thing?" 

"He's got me," Ray informs them plainly and without doubting it for a minute. 

"I'm not used to things feeling so out of hand," Fraser quietly tries to explain to Emily. 

"You get used to it," Ray quips. He notices them both staring at him. "Well, you do. Welcome to my side of the world, Fraser; out of hand and a day at a time." 

"You seem to have adjusted." 

"Piece of cake. I'll tell you everything you need to know." 

Fraser smiles again and slowly gets to his feet with all the energy of a tired, old man. "Ray, I'm going to try and take a proper nap. You'll come and get me if you feel worse?" 

"Sure, Fraser. Same here, okay?" 

Another actual smile. "Understood." 

Fraser closes the bedroom door behind him and he is alone. Diefenbaker follows him around the room while Fraser looks for something to distract himself with but there isn't anything. He knows there are no proper naps in his future. He picks up some of his clothes from the floor that he missed seeing earlier. They land on the bed. He looks in the mirror and there is a weight off his shoulders. It's not enough but it's a start and he'll take what he can get. 

Fraser sits on the side of the bed - the furthest side from the adjoining door - burries his head in his hands and begins crying again. 

*  
When the door closes, Ray leans forward and buries his face in his hands. "Oh, Christ, Em, he's so sad." 

"Yeah, I know," Emily says and wraps her arm around Ray's shoulders. "He'll get past it, Ray. I don't know what you guys said. He'll get there. You'll both be all right. Let's see your head. Come on." 

Ray sits up straight and doesn't flinch while Emily has a look under the bandage again for a better look. "Nice job, if I do say so myself. May not even have a scar. Damn, I'm good---" 

"Can you hang around for a while?" he interrupts quickly. 

"I've got a full load today, Ray." But so has he and that fact doesn't miss either of them. "Maybe I can take an extra couple of minutes. Most of the cases are routine anyway." 

"Thanks." 

"You want me to run out and get some sandwiches?" 

He grabs her hand before she can stand up. "No, stay. I feel like shit for him and I've got a splitting headache. I just want to sit here with you until you have to go back. Tell me something good about you, tell me something great. Tell me about the best day you ever had." 

* 

(The snow is fresh and soft, the new recruits are busy. I think this was a good idea, coming back here for a while. Buck seemed almost relieved when I managed to tell him there were some things I needed to talk about with regards to my parents, my childhood; all things he was as intimate with as I, but with the objectivity I lack. (Ray took off this morning. Buck and I saw him to the bus stop for the ten o'clock bus. I found out later that there is no ten o'clock bus. Buck had secretly called Emily's cell phone to tell her there was an American with scared looking hair stranded in front of the post office and would she mind driving him to the nearest town with an airport. Ray called tonight to thank Buck for the travel arrangements. I'm glad he and Emily will have a little more time together. 

(I doubt Ray knew what he was getting into when he said yes to coming along with me. I know I didn't. I hadn't realized how focused I was about people who have left my life through no choice of their own, instead of listening to one who chose to stay, no matter how badly I treated him. I've told him how grateful I was for his friendship in the face of everything I put him through, from insults, to illness, to silence, to cracking his head open. Telling Ray the value of his friendship was an easy thing to say but for Ray it may not have been an easy thing to hear. I only hope it's an easy thing for him to know. 

(I'm not sure how long Dief and I will stay here. I have no immediate plans to go back to Chicago. Buck said he was happy to have me stay on for as long as I wanted. I think he also misses knowing that Dad won't be coming back. We've agreed to let each other know should my father make any form of appearance. And if he should ever reappear, maybe he will have Mum with him, this time for good. From this point on, anything's possible. We'll have to see.) 

**THE END**


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